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"When I can," I said.

"I have a set of rooms in the city. I'd love to showthem to you."

"I imagine they're quite popular with the ladies."

He grinned. "Very," he said, "although they rarely see anything but the ceiling."

"Is it a nice ceiling?"

"Divine, I'm told."

I handed him my plate. "Then I suggest you stare at it and think of what you're missing."

"But-"

"I've more interesting things to look at," I said as I turned away.

Catherine appeared near dawn to bid her guests farewell.

Standing at the door ofthe ballroom, she looked as reo gal and majestic as she had when the ev-ening began.

Empress she might be, but Catherine was still the perfect hostess, smiling and exchanging a few words with her guests as they departed. Her dark, intelligent blue eyes were serene. Her powdered hair had a silvery sheen. She was a stunning figure in the silver brocade and ruby red gown.

Orlov located me in the ballroom, hardly able to contain his elation. His lips wore a perpetual smile as we joined the procession leaving the room. When we reached Catherine, he made another deep bow and told her it had been an evening he would treasure forever. The Empress gave him a polite nod and, smiling pleasantly, reminded me of the cozy chat we would have soon. Gregory beamed euphorically as we were led back through the labyrinth of corridors and collected our wraps.

The sun was just coming up as we descended the long flight of wide marble steps to the waiting carriage. The pearl gray sky was tinted with luminous pink and gold streaks, and shadows melted all around us.

"We dance together three times!" Gregory exclaimed.

"We play cards together and everyone watches! She takes me to her rooms and tells me to amuse myself while she reads more reports, signs more documents."

I wasn't really surprised. "She
worked?"
I said.

"I know my Catherine," he told me. "She is being coy.

She does not wish to seem too eager to take me back."

Everyone would know she had taken him to her rooms.

No one would know she had spent all those hours at her desk, least of all Potemkin. Poor Gregory, I thought. How long would it be before he discovered that Catherine had used him just as he had intended to use me? Let him enjoy his illusions, I told myself. They would crumble soon enough.

I had other things to think about.

OUR APPEARANCE AT THE WINTER PALACE AND

the events of the evening caused a veritable storm of gossip and the wildest speculation. Catherine had taken Orlov to her bedroom and they had made passionate love for hours on end. She and Potemkin had had a vicious argument and he was definitely on his way out. During the course of the evening I had had an interlude with Potemkin, had seduced Bryan Lloyd, and made assignations with half a dozen guardsmen. Orlov was going to move back into his old apartments. Potemkin and I were going to leave Russia together. Gregory and Potemkin were going to fight a duel. The whole city buzzed with delicious, improbable rumors. This frivolous, foolish wagging of tongues seemed to be a major pastime of the court.

It took a stunning, shocking event in real life to divert the gossips from their latest succulent morsel, and when news of the Menshikov massacre reached St. Petersburg two days later, the Orlov-Potemkin rivalry was immediately overshadowed. As horrifying detail after detail was revealed, a frightened and uncomprehending court could talk of nothing else. Their rarefied, greenhouse world suddenly seemed all too vulnerable, and their pampered existence had been threatened. What happened to the

Menshikovs could have happened to any of them, they knew, and shudders of horror ran through the marble corridors.

Count Alexander Menshikov and his wife Sophia had been bright stars in Elizabeth's court, brilliant favorites with their own cliques. Alexander had been a particular pet of the gouty, depraved old Empress, a virile lover who helped her forget enroaching senility and the inevitable loss of power. Sophia was one of Peter Ill's playmates and openly scornful of the dull German princess he had married.

Nevertheless, after the coup, Catherine had not banished them.

Elizabeth and Peter were gone and the dull

German princess sat on the throne, but Menshikov and his wife, now in their fifties, were still welcome at the Winter Palace. Some claimed Catherine kept them around to remind her of the old days and the determination that had enabled her to triumph against all odds. No longer dazzling, yet colorful and popular, the Menshikovs had continued to shine, their viperous wit and vivacity amusing a tolerant Empress who was far too busy to bear grudges.

Two months ago the Menshikovs had temporarily retired to his estate in the north so that he could recover from "a slight illness" that, the gossips claimed, was actually syphilis. With them were their three daughters, their sons-in-law, six grandchildren, their private physician, and Countess Anna Pastukov, Sophia's widowed sister. A week and a half ago, while the Menshikovs and entourage were having a late breakfast, a band of over two hundred peasants had swarmed the estate, yelling like madmen, waving pitchforks, scythes and hoes. The household servants were hacked to pieces. Countess Sophia, her sister and daughters were brutally raped unto death, then dismembered.

The physician and the three sons-in-law had

been shot, beheaded, the children impaled on pitchforks, and Count Alexander Menshikov had been dragged outside and crucified as the peasants set fire to the house.

The smoke from burning buildings had brought a troop of the Imperial Army to the scene several hours later.

Broken, battered, bleeding profusely, Count Menshikov was still alive on his rough wooden cross and was able to gasp out details of the massacre before dying in the arms of the officer in charge. The peasants had disappeared, not a trace of them to be found, but the army had made horrible reprisals nevertheless, riding into villages, rounding up men, questioning, killing, burning huts. Over five hundred peasants had been slaughtered during the days that followed.

"It will be a long time before these peasants dare strike again," Count Razumovsky declared, sipping a glass of brandy. "Catherine has ordered four more battalions to the north. They will flush out this Pugachev soon enough and bring him to St. Petersburg in chains."

"Were-were the peasants Pugachev's men?" I asked.

"More than likely," Razumovsky replied, "but it was an isolated incident. He hasn't begun his march. None of the neighboring estates were attacked."

"Pugachev has vowed to march to St. Petersburg within the year," Prince Danzimov informed us. "He claims he'll burn everything in his path. Any word from 'your brothers, Orlov?"

"A message arrives from Alexis this afternoon," Gregory said. "He tells me everything is quiet in our part of the country. This massacre takes place almost a hundred miles west of his estate. My brothers Feodor, Vladimir, and Ivan have had no trouble either."

"Your own estate is near them?" Prince Danzimov asked.

"We are brothers. We have estates close by each other.

Is a conclave of Orlovs in the north. Many cossacks."

Countess Razumosky shivered dramatically. We were still at the dining table with our guests, three nights after the reception at the Winter Palace. Countess Razumovsky was a skinny, horse-faced woman with far too much makeup and an elaborate coiffure, her lime green gown festooned with silver lace. Her husband was a stalwart giant in his late fifties, his table manners as deplorable as his onion-scented breath. Prince Danzimov, an attractive bachelor in his thirties, was accompanied by Countess Panin, a sultry-eyed widow with pouting lips. Count Boris Naryshkin and his wife Natalya completed the party, both of them stout, superior and terribly grand.

"Poor Sophia," Countess Razumovsky said. "She was a dear, dear friend, you know. She begged Peter and me to
visit
them. If his duties at court hadn't been so heavy we might actually have
gone. "

"Not likely," her husband said. "I couldn't abide either of them. Vicious parasites. Gadflies, without an ounce of substance between them. Still, a horrible way to die. They say Menshikov was forced to watch his wife and daughters being raped, saw his grandchildren impaled."

Countess Razumovsky shivered again. Countess Panin idly examined her diamond and emerald bracelet, finding it difficult to hide her boredom. Footmen stood by discreetly in the grand marble dining room with its frescoed ceiling and glittering chandelier. We had dined magnificently from golden plate. My duties as hostess had never been so difficult.

"The Menshikovs will be avenged," Prince Danzimov remarked. "Finding Pugachev and stamping out this insurrection is Catherine's first priority. There've been peasant rebellions before, of course. This is nothing new."

"They should all be shot," Count Naryshkin said dryly.

His attitude was only too typical of his class, I thought, biting back a retort. I was horrified by the fate ofthe Menshikovs and felt that the perpetrators must have been frenzied and crazed with a lust for blood, but I knew all too well the conditions that had driven them. Slaughtering hundreds of innocent peasants was not likely to help the situation.

"Catherine is altogether too indulgent," Count Razumovsky observed. "Building schools, hospitals, trying to educate the peasants-it can only give them ideas. These programs for The People are foolhardy and a terrible drain on government."

"Would you have her build more palaces instead?" I inquired.

"Better palaces than schools for peasants,"Count Naryshkin said. "These people have the mentality of oxen.

Oxen, at least, serve a useful purpose," he added, sipping his brandy.

"I, for one, will sleep much easier now that she's sent four battalions north," Countess Razumovsky said. "I was simply
distraught
when I first learned the news. I had visions of bloodthirsty peasants rampaging through the halls of the Winter Palace."

"This will never happen," her husband assured her.

I was vastly relieved when, finally, we left the table and adjourned to the drawing room. A fire crackled in the marble fireplace. Dozens of candles burned in elegant sconces.

More wine was served. Countess Panin was still bored, a sulky, seductive creature in her low-cut leaf brown velvet gown. She wasn't any happier when Prince Danzimov idly sauntered over to me. I was standing alone, apart from the others.

"You seem preoccupied," he observed.

"I have a lot of things on my mind," I said truthfully.

It was after eleven. Would they never leave? I had made all the arrangements and Bryan was probably skulking around in the gardens at this very moment, waiting for my signal. Prince Danzimov smiled. Tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular build, he had glossy black hair, deep gray eyes, and attractive features, the nose Roman, the mouth full, the jaw strong. He was a bit too polished, a bit too suave and far too conscious of himself.

"I understand," he said.

I gave him a surprised look. "You do?"

"You're concerned about the future."

"I suppose I am."

"Orlov may soon be occupying his old quarters in the Winter Palace. Where does that leave you?"

"You're very perceptive, Prince Danzimov," I said.

"I fancy I understand women."

"I'm sure you do."

He was so very predictable. I knew what he was going to say before he said it, and I played the little game, answering by rote. How surprised he would be if he knew

how tedious I found him.

"I'm a very wealthy man," he told me.

"So I've heard."

"Not as wealthy as Orlov, of course, no one is, but I've always managed to keep my women in satisfactory style.

They've never been without jewels, expensive gowns, a lavish apartment."

"How pleasant for them."

"I keep them satisfied in other ways, 'too."

"Oh?"

He smiled. "I could give you references."

"Countess Panin, for example?"

"Sonya and I are merely-consoling each other. Both of us are currently unattached."

"I see."

"I could be very good to you, Miss Danver."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.

He smiled again, bowed and sauntered across the room to join the other men in their discussion of politics. Countess Razumovsky and Countess Naryshkin 'were avidly talking about dressmakers, the horror of the Menshikov massacre quite forgotten. Countess Panin looked as though she might expire from boredom at any moment.

The ornate silver and blue enamel clock on the mantelpiece continued to tick. It was a very cold night. Bryan was probably freezing. Lucie was undoubtedly biting her nails.

It was another hour before our guests finally departed.

Gregory and I bade them goodbye in the magnificent entrance hall, and when they were gone he turned to me with a pleased smile. He looked splendid in his navy blue brocade frock coat and breeches, the sky blue waistcoat embroidered in silver.

"They all believe I will soon have myoid power," he informed me. "Razumovsky tells me of these shipping concessions he longs to control. Naryshkin says we need a very strong man in the Treasury. He could manage finances much better than the present comptroller."

"And they think you'll soon be able to get these things for them."

"This is so. They both hint I will find it most profitable."

"I suppose you'll receive a hefty share of the spoils."

"This is how it works," he told me. "Everyone is happy.

Everyone is rewarded."

"Prince Danzimov wanted something, too."

"Oh? He does not mention it."

"Me," I said. "As soon as you discard' me."

Gregory grinned, not at all bothered. "Danzimov is quite the ladies' man. He does not miss an opportunity.

I-uh-cannot blame him for making this advance. You are most beautiful tonight in this bronze velvet gown."

"It's growing late," I said. "I think I'll go on up to my room."

"I will accompany you."