Microsoft Word - jw (55 page)

I parted my lips, but the words refused to come. That other Marietta refused to say them. She stood back, looking on, fully aware of what was happening and utterly horrified, resisting the pull, fighting it, fighting it still.

She struggled against the weakness, the longing, the lethargy that lulled senses into stupor.

"I find you-totally repulsive," I said.

He chuckled softly, a lovely sound.

"You repel me."

"You say this, but it is not true. You know it is not true.

You want me to take you. You want to yield. You will submit to me. Ah, yes, you will submit. Submit."

The dark eye gleamed with a diabolical glow, blackbrown flames smoldering, compelling me to obey. Look away, the other Marietta told me.
You must look away.

You will not let him do this to you. The bright candlelight began to grow dim, melting into mist. The paintings disappeared and there was nothing but this giant looming before me in his bizarre red robe, the most fascinating, the

most marvelous man alive.

"You feel a warmth burning inside you," he said. "It's stealing through your blood, warming you, wonderful.

Feel it."

"I feel."

"Your skin is tingling. Feel it tingle."

"Yes."

"It is wonderful, this tingling. You have never felt anything like it before."

"Never," I whispered.

"You are filled with yearning. You yearn to make love to me. You yearn to receive me, enclose me with your flesh, take me deeper, deeper, this is so, say it is so."

"It is so."

He smiled and it was a wonderful smile and never, never had I wanted anything as I wanted this man who was a god, glorious, and the other Marietta was no longer there and I was drifting, dreaming, all reserve, all restraint melting away. I could feel it melting, turning into warmth that flowed through my veins like thick, sweet honey. He slowly raised one large hand and it floated gracefully, caressing the air, and then it landed softly on my shoulder and the fingers spread out and squeezed my bare flesh like rough tentacles curling, uncurling, and a thousand sensations exploded inside as his hand moved up to curl around the back of my neck.

He chuckled, reveling in his power over me, and I knew that, knew he was a monster of depravity employing black arts on me, but that didn't matter at all. The spell was too strong and knowledge was meaningless. The lethargy possessed me completely now as his hand tightened on the back of my neck, drawing me nearer until my face was buried in folds of red brocade. He turned me around, holding me at his side, one arm wrapping around my waist, and we were moving, floating through the mist. I was powerless, absolutely without will, an abject slave to sensation.

He guided me along and we turned and moved down a narrow corridor and then another and he unlocked a door and led me into an incredible womblike room.

Candles glowed, bathing the dull red walls with pale golden shadows. A red carpet covered the floor, dull brick red, like the walls, and there was an enormous scarlet velvet sofa, deep and plush and inviting with piles of scarlet pillows, a sofa designed not for sitting but for love. Heavy scarlet velvet drapes covered the windows, and low ebony tables held dark gold candelabra and an amazing collection of small, erotic Italian bronzes, mythological figures by Bologna, wrestling, writhing, entwining, copulating in an astonishing variety of positions. Leafy dark green plants with tight, waxy white buds grew in dark red urns, scenting the air with a strong, sweet smell.

He closed the door and chuckled and we were alone in the small red room. My limbs felt limp and the hot honey coursed slowly through my veins and my head was spinning.

This was not real. This was not happening. This was a bizarre, erotic dream and I was trapped in it as though trapped in a silken web and he was the spider, a great, glorious spider, ready to claim me, and struggle was useless because the silken strands bound me securely, and though I could move I could never break free. Potemkin held my elbow in a firm grip, the rough, callused fingers squeezing skin and flesh, and without that support I would have crumpled, for my legs were no longer working. Nothing was working. Nothing was real. It was a dream ... a nightmare, yes, a nightmare, and I must wake up. I must not let the spider spring.

He was not golden. He was not glorious. He was evil, evil, and I must free myself of these silken bonds. Golden shadows leaped nimbly on the dull red walls, and the walls seemed to close in on me and I had trouble breathing. I was going to suffocate. My bosom heaved. My breath caught in my throat. Panic began to set in, vibrating inside me, a wild thing beating furiously and pounding against my rib cage. I gasped, unable to breathe at all now.

"Relax," that lovely voice crooned, sweet, soothing music that lulled gently and drove the panic away. "You are not afraid. You want this to happen as much as I do. Relax.

You are not afraid."

I took a deep breath, another, and panic was gone, and I was not afraid any longer but I was still in the middle of a dream. Golden shadows flickered over the bronzes, too, and the small, exquisite figures seemed to come to life there on the tables, performing their various acts in the wavering gold light, moving in and out and up and down and to and fro, rolling and writhing as I watched in horrified fascination. The giant in red brocade grinned and told me that this was what we would do, pointing, and this, pointing again, and this as well, and I was not afraid, no, I wanted it to happen as much as he did, yes, but it wasn't real, it was a dream, and I would never do those things with him when I was awake because he was evil, evil, a great crimson spider ready to spring.

"N0," I said.

"Do not resist. You will not resist. You will enjoy."

"No."

"Look at me. Do not turn away. Look at me."

"I must-"

"You must obey. You will obey."

I must obey. I would obey. It was only a dream. It was not real at all. Marietta was far, far away, safe, in suspension, and this was not happening to her, it was happening to someone else. He led me over to the sofa and released his grip on my elbow and I spilled onto the sofa and sank into scarlet, nestling on soft pillows, looking up through halflowered lids as he stood over me smiling a satisfied smile, awesome and beautiful, all powerful, savoring the ecstasy soon to be his, mine, too. There was no fear, no, I was drifting again, floating in a golden haze, warm and lethargic and wonderfully weak, waiting for this god to do with me as he would.

He leaned over me, catching my wrists in his hands, twisting them slightly as he spread my arms wide. My bosom rose and my right breast popped out of its prison of sky blue silk and stood full and firm and milky white and

, tipped with a tight, throbbing pink nipple that grew harder, tighter as he gazed down at it. "Ah," he exclaimed, and he released my wrists and kneeled down and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me forward, his mouth opening, covering the nipple, sucking vigorously. I arched my back, reeling as the honey warmth exploded into flame, and fire swept through me, magic fire that brought pleasure, not pain, and it must be put out before it consumed me completely. Potemkin raised his head and looked at the swollen nipple and curled one huge hand around the breast and squeezed tightly, kneading the flesh, and I moaned, knowing I was going to die.

His fingers squeezed tighter and he was chuckling again, a merciless executioner deliberately toying with his victim, prolonging the torture, delaying the death. I threw my head back and stared at the dull red ceiling and saw the painting there, fleshy figures encoiled, coupling on clouds, bathed in pink-gold light, and the rough fingers continued to squeeze and the magic fire continued to course through my veins and I floated, floated on clouds like those above, and soon our figures would encoil and couple and it would be ... it would be wrong. He was making me do this, making me, and I despised him, he was repulsive, I must break free before . . . before something terrible took place.

The Marietta who was safe and suspended far, far away stirred and struggled to reclaim herself, to break the spell that held her captive. She caught hold of his greasy hair and tugged viciously, jerking his head back, and he cried out and struck her across the face as she tried to get up from the sofa. He stood up and scowled, weaving to and fro, and then he lunged, falling atop me, pinioning me to the sofa beneath his great weight, and it was me now, free at last, free of those silken strands, that spell, furiously fighting the hideous creature whose swollen manhood poked and prodded like a stiff, steely rod through layers of cloth even as his huge hands sought to remove those silken barriers, as I heaved and pushed and tried to throw him off me. He was too strong, too large, too heavy, and I saw it was futile, but I wasn't going to let it happen. I wasn't. I clamped my legs together, pushing at his chest as his lips sought mine.

"That will be quite enough," Catherine said sharply.

Potemkin froze at the sound of that cold, imperious voice, and I looked over his shoulder and saw her standing there in the doorway regal and composed and as hard as stone. He climbed off of me and smoothed his rumpled red brocade robe and looked at her with a sheepish smile. I sat up and shoved my right breast back into my bodice, filled with humiliation as the Empress of All the Russias gazed icily at the two of us.

"You win at cards?" Potemkin inquired.

"At cards, yes."

"The game is over?"

"Would that it were."

"This means nothing. I just amuse myself."

"Our guests have adjourned to the drawing room for coffee and refreshments, Gregory," she said. "I think it might be wise if you joined them."

Still smiling that sheepish smile, he nodded and sauntered toward the door. Catherine stepped aside to let him move past. Stunned, still weak, I climbed to my feet and adjusted the bodice of my gown. I felt as though I had finally broken surface after being underwater and almost drowning. Standing in the doorway again, Catherine watched Potemkin start down the hall and then turned to look at me. Her features were beautifully composed, betraying no emotion at all.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

I nodded. I could feel the spots of color burning on my cheeks. Her voice was cool. So were her eyes.

"I –I didn't-"

"You needn't explain, my dear."

"He-"

"I'm fully aware of what happened. It has happened before.

I know you are not to blame, Miss Danver."

Each word was like a chip of ice. She knew I was not to blame, but she had seen her lover atop me, attempting to enter, and she had seen me struggling beneath him with my breast exposed. That sight was engraved on her mind, and she could never look at me again without seeing it reenacted. As a woman, I understood. It would have been the same with me.

"Did he hurt you?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I'm just-a little weak."

"Will you be able to join the others? For the sake of appearances?"

"I think so. In-in a few minutes."

I smoothed down my skirts, shamed, striving to regain at least a modicum of composure. Catherine stood very still, cool and impervious, waiting, and after a while I was able to hold myself straight and meet her gaze with dignity.

That silent rapport still existed between us, each attuned to the other's mind, but a gulf separated us now.

Intimacy was no longer possible.

"You will want to tidy up," she said.

"Yes," I replied.

"There is a powder room for guests beyond the main hall. I will show you the way."

"I would appreciate it."

Candlelight flickered over the bronzes and the red walls and the figures on the ceiling as I followed her out of the room. We moved silently down the corridor and turned and moved past the gallery with the vibrantly colored paintings hanging in their ornate gold frames, and an eternity seemed to have passed since I stood staring at the Lancret.

Eventually, we reached the main hall and Catherine led'

me past the wide marble staircase to a gilt white door beyond.

"You'll find. everything you need inside," she said.

"Thank you."

"I'll return to my other guests now."

"I'll join you shortly."

Catherine hesitated, a slight frown marring that mask of composure. "I am very sorry this happened, Miss Danver."

"I am, too."

"Gregory is easily tempted. Ordinarily he is more discreet.

I imagine you are wondering why I tolerate it."

"You love him," I said.

"And I cope, as any woman must. I've found the best way to deal with these matters is to remove the temptation."

"I understand."

"I thought you would. I'll speak to Orlov before you leave tonight."

"You won't tell him what happened-"

"Of course not."

She gave me a polite nod, turned and left, her head held high, her back straight, the skirt of her gray watered silk gown belling as she moved away. I felt that I had lost a friend, and somehow this was more distressing than what had happened with Potemkin. I stepped into the powder room and found a splendid array of cosmetics and perfumes, a silver brush and comb, all the accouterments a fashionable woman might need, including a silver box of patches. I stared at myself in the mirror and made the necessary repairs, calm now, almost numb, and a few minutes later I started back toward the drawing room.

None of this mattered, I told myself. Lucie was safe, on her way to England now, and I would be leaving Russia myself in just a few days and all this would become mere memory. A year from now, in the clear, clean spaces of Texas with its grassy plains and arching blue skies, Catherine and Potemkin and Orlov would be insubstantial shades, Russia a distant land with no reality as I strolled under the cottonwood trees and smelled the sage. This perspective

was an invisible shield, protecting me from emotional turmoil as I stepped into the drawing room.

Potemkin was teasing young Peter again and paid not the slightest attention when I entered the room. Madame Koshelev was counting her winnings and eating a dish of ice cream. Gregory was talking with Protasova, lording it over her now that he believed himself back in power.