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"Thank God," I whispered. "Oh, thank God-"

I put down my rifle and started to tremble, and Jeremy put his down too and curled his arm around my shoulders as more and more soldiers came around the curve, black boots shining, white breeches snug, scarlet tunics vivid in the sunlight, gold epaulettes shimmering. Orders were barked out in a rough voice arid the whole platoon halted.

Soldiers dismounted rapidly, rushing toward us with sabres

drawn. In moments we were completely surrounded, blades glittering, faces hostile, dark with suspicion. Our rifles were seized. We were bombarded with questions.

Confusion prevailed as harsh voices babbled, as sabres waved threateningly, slicing the air around us. It was only natural they be so hostile, I told myself-they round a curve and find two people crouched behind a sleigh, rifles aimed at them-but what if they didn't accept our story?

Catherine's army wasn't noted for its compassion.

They seemed ready to cut us to ribbons.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, Jeremy tried his best to explain who we were, why we were here, but his voice was drowned out by the babble and his Russian really wasn't up to it. He kept making horrendous errors, kept forgetting words. They were going to kill us! I stared at the belligerent faces. I shook my head. The hood fell back, uncovering my hair, and one voice rose louder than the others, laced with harsh authority. The soldiers fell back. The man who had shouted the order

stepped forward, and his face seemed vaguely familiar.

He was very tall, very stern, with silver-gray hair and steel gray eyes and lean, hawklike features.

"Miss Danver," he said. "Captain Khitrov. I dined at the Marble Palace six weeks ago with you and Count Orlov."

"Cap-Captain Khitrov-yes, yes, I remember now. You were with Countess Golovkin. I-I'm so glad to see you.

Your men-"

"You can imagine our dismay when we came round the bend and saw the two of you aiming rifles at us. I apologize

for the misunderstanding. I didn't recognize you until I saw your hair."

"We-we thought you were peasants. We've been-s"

I cut myself short, too distraught, too relieved to go on.

Captain Khitrov was all courtesy and suggested I sit down in the sleigh and ordered one of his men to bring some brandy and Jeremy helped me into the sleigh and began to

talk with Captain Khitrov in a low voice, leading him away so that I wouldn't overhear. A soldier handed me a small crystal glass with a golden rim and I sipped the exquisite

brandy as horses whinnied and soldiers milled about and Jeremy and Khitrov stood talking across the road, their faces grim indeed. Several long minutes passed. I finished my brandy. Khitrov nodded his head in agreement to something Jeremy had said and then went to

speak to his men. Jeremy came over to the sleigh then, and

I knew. Before he spoke, I knew, and a bright world vanished

for me, a dream died.

"You're going with them," I said.

"I must, love. I'm the only one who knows where the camp is. Khitrov is sending men off to contact the various battalions scattered about. They will all assemble at a designated

place, and then we'll hit Pugachev's camp and find out about the other three groups and head them off."

"I see," I said. My voice sounded strangely hollow.

"He's dispatching a group to round up Pulaski and his men immediately. Ten of his best soldiers are going to take

you on to St. Petersburg, to the British embassy. You'll be perfectly safe."

"And you? Will you be perfectly safe? There'll be battles and bloodshed and-oh, Jeremy."

"It's something I have to do, Marietta. You know that."

"Yes, I know. I understand."

"Time is of the essence. We can't afford to lose a single day."

"I understand, Jeremy."

He took both my hands and held them tight and looked into my eyes, and I held back the tears and put on a brave

face and felt my heart breaking.

"Soon," he promised. "Soon it will an be over."

I nodded, and there was much activity as men rode off on their various missions and others assembled. Jeremy and Khirov conferred again and Jeremy came back to kiss me goodbye and then swung himself up onto a horse Khirov provided. An amiable, strapping soldier climbed into the sleigh beside me and took up the reins and nine horsemen assembled around us as he pulled into the middle of the road, their saddlebags heavy with provisions. Jeremy nodded at me as we started down the road, toward the curve.

Goodbye, my darling, I said silently. I didn't look back.

There was no point. The dream was over.

V ANYA HAD COME TO VISIT ME SEVERAL TIMES

during the past three and a half weeks, and I was sad as I realized this would be his last visit, that tomorrow he would be leaving for Moscow where he would join the personal

guard of a nobleman. His new job would be much like the old, but Count Solveytchik was in his sixties and known for his conservatism and compassion, as unlike Orlov as a man could be. I was glad Vanya had found employment

that pleased him, glad, too, that his shoulder wound was finally completely healed and he no longer had his arm in a sling. We stood in the courtyard of the British embassy now, the day so bright and sunny I had come out without a cloak, wearing one of the simple frocks I had bought soon after I arrived. Snow and ice were beginning to melt everywhere. Spring was definitely in the air.

Natasha whinnied, arching her neck, looking at me with large, luminous eyes full of affection. I curled my arms around her neck and rested my cheek against her silky skin. Three nights ago, as soon as his arm was out of the sling, Vanya had slipped into the Orlov stables in the dead of night, stealing the mare he felt rightfully belonged to him, and Natasha would be going along to Moscow with him. I was relieved to know she would have a gentle, loving

master and receive gentle, loving care. I hugged her, rubbing her cheek with mine, and Natasha let out another ecstatic whinny, tapping one hoof on the pavement. #

"She will miss you," Vanya said.

"And I will miss her-and you, Vanya."

The cossack scowled, looking quite savage in his scuffed black boots, baggy brown trousers and belted brown jacket

with full skirt hemmed with gray fur. A wide-brimmed gray fur hat slanted atop his head, and a long sabre dangled

from his belt. His fierce demeanor couldn't quite conceal the unmanly emotions inside. Scowl he might, but his eyes were perilously tender as I squeezed his hand. He had

been badly wounded the night he helped Lucie elope with Bryan, but friends had taken him in, had fetched a doctor, and tended to him during the following weeks. When he learned Orlov had taken me to his estate in the north, Vanya had been full of anxiety and had planned to come for me as soon as it was physically possible. Hearing I had

returned to St. Petersburg and was safely domiciled at the British embassy, he had been vastly relieved, making the first of many visits.

"They have been good to you here?" he asked gruffly, implying he was ready to lay waste with his sabre were that not the case.

"Sir Reginald has been very kind-so have most of the others. Some of the wives still consider me a bold, reckless

adventuress and look the other way when I pass them in the foyer, but I'm quite used to that sort of thing. I fear I've never been quite respectable as far as the good ladies are concerned."

"Vanya will scare them with his sabre!"

I smiled, amused at the vision of Vanya running through the halls of the embassy with half a dozen pompous,

officious wives shrieking ahead of him, taffeta skirts flying. My lengthy visits in the courtyard with "that barbarous

ruffian" caused their tongues to clatter all the more. I would have enjoyed taking him upstairs to my humble but comfortable rooms on the third floor, but Vanya had refused to come inside the embassy, deeming it

"unseemly." He was far more concerned about my reputation

than I.

"Oh," I said, "I meant to tell you earlier-Sir Reginald received a letter from Bryan this morning. It arrived in the diplomatic pouch. Bryan has almost finished his. new play.

Lucie is studying acting with a marvelous coach who is thrilled with the progress she's making. They've just purchased

a small town house in London."

"This is good to hear," Vanya said. "The necklace you give them makes it possible for them to live most comfortably."

"I'm very happy for them," I said pensively.

Vanya scrutinized me with fierce brown eyes. "And you?" he asked. "It is going to end happily for you, too?

Pugachev has been captured and taken to Moscow in a steel cage. His followers have been routed. Most of the soldiers

have returned to St. Petersburg. The Englishman-he comes with them?"

"He returned to St. Petersburg three days ago," I replied,

"but-I haven't seen him."

I gazed across the sun-washed courtyard. The huge wrought-iron gates stood open. A carriage came through and pulled up in front of the embassy steps. Two women climbed out, chatting busily, their arms laden with packages

after a shopping spree on the Nevsky Prospekt.

Vanya frowned as the carriage drove away.

"He does not come to see you? Something is wrong?"

"It seems his presence is required at the Winter Palace for-i-for some kind of military talks. He sent word to me as soon as he arrived, but his note wasn't very specific. That was three days ago. I-I haven't heard from him since."

"This is quite understandable," Vanya told me. "He plays a very important part in capturing Pugachev. It is natural the government would wish to confer with him. He will come to you as soon as he can. Of this I am certain." .

"I suppose you're right. It's just-just been difficult. I'm not terribly good at waiting."

"It will all turn out well," he said. His voice was gentle and reassuring. "Your man will come to you and you will leave Russia and go to this land you are eager to see again.

Vanya will think of you often when he is in Moscow, serving

Count Solveytchik. I have something for you."

He opened the saddle bag and pulled out a pair of beige leather boots lined with soft beige fur, almost identical to the pair he had "loaned" me months ago on the road to St.

Petersburg. Brusquely, he handed them to me.

"I bring you these. I know you lose the other pair. You wear them in Texas sometime and think of Vanya."

"I-oh, Vanya, I think I may cry."

"You wear the boots. You think of Vanya back in Russia. If you wish, you might one day write a letter to let me know how you are. You could send it care of Count Solveytchik in Moscow. He would see that I get it."

"I will, Vanya. I promise."

"I am almost glad I have the small, dainty feet," he said gruffly. "They bring us together. I must go now. I must pack and make preparations to leave. Be happy, Marietta."

He scowled and looked very fierce, and then he folded me to him in a tight, rib-cracking hug, released me, and swung nimbly up into the saddle. Natasha whinnied again. I gave her a final pat and fought back the tears as the gentle cossack who had befriended me rode smartly out

of the courtyard. Holding the beautiful boots, I let the tears trickle down my cheeks, and several minutes went by before I was composed enough to go back inside.

Lady Clark, Lady Jamison, Mrs. Brown and two other highly respectable wives were talking in the large reception

hall with its comfortable furniture, flowered rugs and profusion of potted plants. They fell silent as I moved past on my way to the staircase, all of them staring, mentally recoiling at having such a notorious creature in their midst. I heard a buzz of malicious whispering as I started up the staircase, but I paid it no mind. Grateful for the service

I had done his son, Sir Reginald had been kindness itself to me, as had the Ambassador, and I had been given the small but comfortable rooms Bryan had occupied when

he was staying at the embassy.

Climbing the second flight of stairs that led up to the third floor, I went down the hall and into my sitting room, closing the door behind me. The pale blue wallpaper was faded, the pink and blue rugs were shabby, and the small white marble fireplace was streaked gray with soot, but sunlight slanted through the windows and the room had a pleasant atmosphere. I set the boots down, stepping over to

the window to gaze out at the city. Past rooftops, past trees, I could see the Winter Palace in the distance, majestically

silhouetted against the light blue sky. How long would he be there? Couldn't he have stolen time from his important conferences to come see me just once? Were they

keeping him occupied all night as well? I had been distraught,

angry, resentful, tearful, sad, going through a whole bevy of conflicting emotions when I received his message, and now I felt utterly weary.

The weeks of waiting for word had been sheer hell. Not knowing whether he was alive or dead, not knowing what was happening had been a perpetual torment, followed by incredible relief when word finally arrived that Jeremy was alive, that Pugachev had been captured, the peasants put to rout, the rebellion finally, completely crushed.

Pugachev had indeed been carried to Moscow in a steel cage, and, in a generous display of clemency, Catherine had ordered that he be mercifully executed at once without undergoing any of the horrible tortures her predecessors would have made him endure. It was over now ... and I was still alone.

Sighing heavily, I turned away from the window and sat down in the shabby, overstuffed blue chair and tried to read the novel one of the friendlier embassy wives had loaned me. The Vicar of Wakefield was delightful and Oliver

Goldsmith a most engaging writer, but I found it impossible to concentrate this afternoon. Setting the book aside, I watched dust motes whirl lazily in the bars of sunlight,

watched the pools of light spreading across the floor, and half an hour later I heard the footsteps pounding in the hall. The door flew open, banging back against the wall. I leaped up with a start. Jeremy grinned at me and strode into the room, exuding energy and robust vitality that seemed to crackle in the air about him.