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When Love Commands

by Jennifer Wilde

As Marietta Danver's conveyance sped across the wintry Russian landscape, not even her sumptuous furs could keep out the sudden chill of apprehension. Was she letting wounded vanity lead her into danger? Her heart had been broken...but could she really forget by running off to St.

Petersburg with Count Gregory Orlov?

Soon it was too late for regrets. Gregory Orlov -- the tall, broodingly handsome, wildly passionate Russian, notorious as Catherine the Great 's uncrowned emperor--revealed the violent nature which took pleasure in her torment. She was no more than his prisoner...snared in the intrigues of a glittering imperial court... pursued by the rage of a jealous empress...thrust into the savagery of revolution.

Defenseless and nearly broken, she resigned herself to death, or worse. Yet the man she had run from, trying to forget, had not forgotten her...or the dreams of love they once shared.

LOVE'S COMMAND

A fire was blazing brightly and there were fur rugs in front of the fireplace and he undressed me and I writhed naked on the fur, my body

warmed by the heat of the flames and the heat inside. He stood over me, hands on hips, legs spread wide, looking down at me. He smiled

slowly, his eyelids drooping slightly over eyes now filled with desire, dark, smouldering blue eyes that feasted on me as I stretched before the flames, sliding on soft fur. The smile grew taut on his lips and his handsome face was tense,

the skin stretched tightly across broad cheekbones.

He kneeled over me, a knee on either

side of my thighs, hands pinioning my wrists to the fur. He loomed there over me, his face

inches from my own, lips parting. Slowly,

slowly, he lowered his head, eyes shining

brightly and telling me of his love, his need.

To
my agent,

JAY ACTON,

who makes it all .

happen

OGILVY CRACKED THE WHIP AND THE HORSES

picked up speed and the coach rumbled noisily through the village, passing the inn, putting more and more distance between me and the man I had almost allowed to ruin my life. He hadn't wanted to marry me, no, for the illegitimate daughter of a barmaid and an English aristocrat wasn't good enough for him. He had found the perfect wife as soon as he returned to England, a lovely, gentle creature born to be mistress of a great estate like Hawkehouse, but he still wanted me. He wanted me desperately. I was in his blood, he assured me, would always be, and he couldn't live without me. He had instructed me to stay at the inn until he could make
other arrangements,
and he fully expected me to do just that. I could never be his wife, but I could be his mistress. He seemed to think that honor enough. How little he knew me.

The village was behind us now. The horses were moving at a brisk gallop. As the coach sped over the potted, uneven road, as the gorgeous English countryside seemed to flash past the windows in a kaleidoscope of shifting shapes and colors, I realized that he had never known me at all. I had been his obsession, as he had been mine, but it was over now. Derek Hawke was ensconced in his ancient manor house with his genteel new wife, awaiting the birth of his first child, and I felt no pain at all. I felt only relief. I was free at last, and a glorious elation stirred inside as I realized that the tormenting, all-consuming love I had had for him had been dead a long time. I knew now that it had died the first moment I laid eyes on Jeremy Bond.

The elation swelled as I thought of him, and the love seemed to sing, filling me with music felt, not heard, a silent symphony of happiness so lovely I could scarcely endure it. Jeremy. Jeremy. He was waiting for me, and in a matter of hours I would be in London and in his arms and a new life would begin for both of us. What a fool I had been.

What a bloody, blundering fool! I had almost cast this happiness aside. I had almost destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to me. "One day," he had informed me,

"you will see what is in your own heart," but I had ignored him. Blindly I had turned away from him and come to join the man I stubbornly believed I still loved.

I knew at last what was in my own heart, and that knowledge filled me with a glow of happiness as radiant as sunlight, as inebriating as the finest wine. The music seemed to surge inside. Never, never had I known such elation.

Never had I felt this way about any man, and how I had fought it. How I had struggled, spatting with him constantly, holding myself aloof, refusing to give in to those delicious sensations his mere presence caused within me. I denied them. I shut them off. I held back until that starblazing night in Texas when we finally . . . Horse hooves pounded, harness jangled, wheels spun in a noisy clatter, and I saw again that handsome, beloved face. I saw those vivid blue eyes so full of merriment and life, those broad, flat cheekbones, skin taut across them, that slightly twisted nose and the wide pink mouth with its amiable yet disturbingly sensual curve. I saw the rich, unruly brown hair, one glossy wave invariably flopping across his brow.

How I longed to run my fingers through that hair and look into those eyes and trace the curve of that full lower lip with my fingertips.

Soon, I told myself. Soon! This very evening I would be with him and we would experience anew that shattering splendor we had known months ago in the wilds of Texas.

Convinced that Derek Hawke was dead, I had finally given myself to Jeremy there under the Texas sky, and all the stars blazing above seemed to explode inside me as I experienced

an ecstasy few women ever know. Jeremy Bond

was a remarkable lover, and lover was the proper word. He had not taken me, as Derek had done. He had made love to me, expressing his love in the age-old way and with a tender fury that seemed to shred the senses. I remembered, and my body ached for him as the coach bowled along the road, as green trees and pale blue sky and low gray stone walls streaked past the windows.

There had been just the one time. Jeremy Bond had risked his life for me on more than one occasion, had rescued me from a fate indeed worse than death, yet for months I had denied him, denied the love I felt with evermounting

intensity. After that night of splendor-the very next morning, in fact-I had learned that Derek Hawke was still alive. Jeremy Bond had known all along, had kept it from me, and I had been unable to forgive what I considered his base treachery. He had insisted on accompanying me to England, assuring me all the while that I loved him, not Derek, but that was something I had had to find out for myself.

I had left Jeremy in London. I had hired this private coach and journeyed to the country to be reunited with the man I still considered the great love of my life. I had seen him. I had met his gracious, pregnant wife. I had expected my world to come crashing down. It hadn't. A great feeling of relief swept over me as I realized that I no longer loved the man who had wooed me with promises he never intended to keep. Derek Hawke was the past. Jeremy Bond was the future, and that future was going to be wildly exhilarating.

I could hardly wait to begin.

Moving to the opposite seat, getting on my knees, I opened the tiny window behind the driver's seat. I had already removed my elaborate black velvet hat with its spray of bronze, pale mauve and royal blue feathers, and thick waves of coppery red hair spilled across my cheek as I held the knob of the window and called to the driver.

"Can't you go any faster, Ogilvy!"

Ogilvy turned to peer down at my face, his strong hands firmly gripping the reins. "Can't push 'em much harder, Miss Danver!" he shouted. "They're in a fair sweat already!"

"Hurry," I pleaded. "Do hurry!"

"We'll reach London 'fore nightfall, don't you fret!"

I closed the window. We passed over a particularly nasty rut and the coach shook violently and I was thrown backward, landing on the opposite seat in a tangle of skirts, thoroughly crushing the hat with its wide black brim, its turquoise bow and spray of feathers. Pulling it from under me, I muttered an irritated
Damn!
and then smiled at myself.

I wouldn't be needing fashionable hats in Texas, and the sumptuous wardrobe in the trunks strapped on top of the coach would be wasted, too. Silks, satins and velvets would have to be replaced by sturdier, more sensible garments.

Sitting up, I brushed the heavy waves from my face and adjusted the tight black velvet bodice of my gown, smoothing down the satin skirt with its narrow stripes of black, bronze, mauve, royal blue and turquoise. It was one of Lucille's finest creations, especially selected for my reunion with Derek Hawke. The gown was hopelessly rumpled now, but I would never wear it again. Another rueful smile played on my lips. Oh, yes, I had put on my finest raiment for Derek, expecting to be welcomed with open arms, leaving the man I really loved in the yard of the inn with an expression on his face that I would never forget. That sober composure, those eyes filled with tender emotions that belied the pain ... How could I have hurt him so?

The horse hooves were pounding furiously now. The coach rocked alarmingly, threatening to fall apart. A whip cracked. We seemed to pick up even more speed, and I had to grip the edge of the seat to avoid being tossed about. I hardly noticed the discomfort, thinking of that sad departure.

Had it been only this morning? It seemed an eternity ago that he had smiled that tender smile and touched my cheek.

"I hope you'll be happy, Jeremy," I had said.

"I haven't given up," he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I still hope you'll come to your senses."

"And-see what is in my own heart?"

"That's right. I haven't given up. I'll be here at The White Hart for a week. I'll be hoping. I'll be waiting, Marietta."

He knew me so much better than I knew myself, and he wouldn't be at all surprised when the coach pulled into the yard of The White Hart and I climbed out. He would cock his head to one side and arch one of those slanting brows and make some jaunty quip. I would snap back at him and assume my haughtiest expression and we would have a rousing scrap as he followed me up to my room. The mood would be light. No sullen looks, no recriminations from Jeremy Bond, that wasn't his style. No tears of remorse, no plea of forgiveness from me. I would be cool and dignified, proud as ever, and he would tease and I would scold and he would finally crush me to him and we would tumble onto the bed for a rowdy celebration of joyous love.

I would never leave him again. Never. We would return to Texas together-that vast, wild, exciting land-and he would buy the spread ofland adjacent to Randolph's property and build me a house like Em's with thick white adobe walls and red tile roof and patios with fountains.

Randy had asked him to become his partner, and Jeremy was eager to settle down after years of adventure. They would breed horses and have the finest stables in Texas, and Em and I would sit on the shady veranda and sip cool drinks and gossip. We had been through so much together, Em and I. Marriage to Randolph had brought her happiness at last, and she adored her rough-hewn, good-natured husband, although they were undoubtedly still bickering and spatting with glee.

How I longed to see Em again, Randolph, too. Hurley and Marshall and young Chris were at the rancho as well, working for Randy. I would be surrounded by friends, and I would be the wife of Mr. Jeremy Bond. Oh yes, the scamp was going to marry me before we left London. I intended to see to it. He loved me every bit as much as I loved him, I was certain of that, but with a man as mercurial, as jaunty and carefree as Mr. Bond, the ties had best be legal. He was altogether too attractive for his own good, irresistible to the ladies, and fidelity was not a notable male virtue.

The rogue was going to marry me, yes, and if he even thought of straying he'd pay dearly.

The coach bounced, banging noisily. The landscape was flying past now, a blur of color. Horse hooves thundered on'

the road, pounding, pounding, pounding. Ogilvy had certainly taken my plea to heart, I thought as the whip cracked in the air again. Each passing moment brought me closer and closer to Jeremy Bond, and as I thought of our passionate reunion my elation grew. Was it possible to be drunk with joy? Indeed it was, and I gloried in the sensation.