Silver Nights by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page A

have your sickness on my conscience in addition to my injustice.”
    Sophie looked at him steadily for a minute. “I want no part of your world,” she said, before swinging on her heel and walking away from him.
    Adam followed, recognizing that he had done his cause yet further disservice. The thought that had been nibbling uncomfortably on the edges of his mind crystallized. He did not doubt his ability to deliver up Sophia Alexeyevna to the czarina, and thus to Prince Paul Dmitriev. But if she had not achieved at least resignation when he did so she faced a bleak future. Prince Dmitriev did not tolerate opposition or the unconventional. He would permit neither in a wife—particularly one thirty years his junior. And if she did not fit his mold, there was no reason to believe that the methods he would use to reshape her would be gentle.

Chapter 3
    Sophie slept little until dawn, when she fell into a heavy slumber disturbed by a confused dream tangle of flight and pursuit. A pair of deep-set gray eyes drew her inexorably toward a tall man with a wide, intelligent forehead dominating a lean, aristocratic face, a beautiful mouth now set in stern purpose as he plucked her from the freedom she knew lay beyond her, drew her body backward even as her soul strained ahead; then she was looking into a pair of yellow wolf’s eyes, bared fangs, a spare gray body gathered to spring. She woke, her nightgown clinging damply to her skin, when Tanya Feodorovna, bustling in with hot water, drew back the curtains to let in the spring sunshine.
    â€œIt’s a beautiful day, Princess,” declared the peasant woman who had been Sophie’s constant attendant since Boris Mikhailov brought the infant princess to Berkholzskoye. The young mother of a newborn son, Tanya had cheerfully accepted another babe at her breast, where the milk flowed plentifully, and when her own child died she had transferred all her maternal energies to her nursling, caressing and scolding through childhood hurts, scrapes, and temper tantrums, steering her through adolescent confusions with her own brand of practical, no-nonsense wisdom. It was the latter with which Tanya was armed this April morning.
    â€œBy all the saints!” she exclaimed, examining the heavy-eyed Sophia. “You’d best not show such a long face to your husband on your wedding morning! A man likes to feel he’s pleasured his wife, not subjected her to the torments of thefiery kingdom!” She bustled over to the armoire, saying over her shoulder, “Of course, a woman’s chances of being pleasured are not very high, but a man still likes to feel he’s succeeded.”
    â€œIf they were made aware of the fact that they hadn’t, then perhaps they would try harder.” Sophie found herself responding in usual fashion, despite her wretchedness. “Anyway, Tanya Feodorovna, I am not getting married.”
    â€œThat’s not what I heard,” said Tanya, shaking out the folds of a flowered muslin dress. “The sooner you stop fighting it, Sophia Alexeyevna, the happier you’ll be.” She laid the gown on the bed. “Hurry up now. The prince is waiting for you in the library. You’ve slept right through breakfast.” She poured water into the washbasin. “What clothes do you want to take with you? I’m sure I don’t know that you’ve anything suitable for St. Petersburg. I haven’t, either…nor Boris Mikhailov…”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Sophie swung herself out of bed, standing groggily in a patch of sunlight. “You and Boris—”
    â€œWhy, we’re to come with you,” Tanya said cheerfully. “Bless your heart, you didn’t think the prince would let you go off all that way without us?”
    Sophie closed her eyes on a nagging thump behind her temples and a welter of confusion. A great many matters seemed to have been decided in the few short