I didn’t want this to be like the times before. I reached for his hand and placed it on my cheek. He closed his eyes and then opened them again and smiled, moving closer to me.
“I’ve thought about asking you to come here, but I knew I shouldn’t,” he said. His voice was odd again, a little like he couldn’t catch his breath. He took his hand away as if his words had reminded him that he was touching me.
“Why shouldn’t you?” I asked, even though I thought I knew the answer.
“Because it’s not a good idea for us to be alone. Because of the war. Because I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
He reached out again, this time taking a lock of my hair in his hand and wrapping it around his fingers. “You have the most beautiful hair. It’s a shame you have to wear it up. Though when you do have it up, I can see your pretty neck.”
He brushed my hair off my shoulder. “So stunning, like the color of a firebird,” he whispered, and then sighed, taking his hand away. “I wish I’d met you a long time ago.”
“I do too. But we’re here now in this lovely room. That’s enough for me.”
He leaned in close. I could feel his breath on me. It was so warm.
“You smell of apricots,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. “I’m very fond of apricots. They remind me of lazy summer days and the bees buzzing and warm breezes.”
I felt like my whole body had suddenly caught fire. His lips touched my neck.
“I see you when you are all covered with snow,” he said, “and I think that you have such warmth inside you, it should all melt away in an instant, and that you could take us into summer if you wanted.”
I turned to face him and he tangled his fingers in my hair and kissed me. It was as if we really were in summer, surrounded by the heat. I pulled him toward me and forgot about everything except that I wanted to stay like that forever.
When he moved away from me, I reached out for him to bring him back close, but he caught my hand. “We should stop,” he said.
“I don’t want to,” I murmured.
“We really, really should stop.” He got up. The warmth drained out of me and out of the room. “Don’t look like that, please,” he said. “This is exactly why I didn’t ask you to come here before.”
I sighed and sat up straight, my sense coming back to me. “I know,” I said. “But it was lovely.” So lovely I’d remember it always. “I want to come back here. Will you bring me?”
He didn’t answer for what seemed like a long time. I sat very still. “Yes,” he said finally. “Yes, of course.”
He sat back down and we began to talk, about nothing really important, but we talked for a long time, about our families, about school and how we had lived before the war. When I heard someone moving in the hallway, I looked over at a small clock on the table.
“Tatiana is up. It must be close to daylight,” Dmitri said. “Do you want her to fix us something to eat or do you want to go home?”
I stood up. “Let’s go home.” I knew the longer I stayed here, the more I’d never want to leave.
Chapter Seventeen
BY THE TIME we got home, my stomach was rumbling again. “Let’s go straight to the kitchen,” I said.
“I need to be somewhere,” Dmitri said. “I just wanted to make sure you got home all right, but I will be back later.”
His lips brushed my forehead before he walked away. I climbed up the stairs to the front door. Osip opened it, jerking his head to one side.
I didn’t understand what he was doing until I came in and saw the baron standing by the window. I stared at him, unable to believe he was back. I had thought we were free of him since the Okhrana was gone.
“Ah, good morning, Miss Mason. I see you were out for perhaps an early-morning walk with the count?” The man’s eyes went to my hair, which I realized I hadn’t put back up.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly what we were doing.”
He smirked, and I wished I could wipe the expression off his face. “What do you want with us?” I asked. “Little pieces of paper calling for revolution hardly matter now.”
“I don’t want anything with you. Forgive me for my lack of cordiality in greeting you. That was wrong of me, especially now. At this point, it no longer matters what you do, but the general is in great danger of being arrested. We both know he would not survive long in prison.”
I didn’t understand. “Why would anyone want to arrest him? He’s an old man who sits in his library and writes.” Why was the baron still tormenting us?
“It’s not just him. It’s all the known supporters of the czar. The general must go take an oath in front of the Duma to show he believes the czar’s time is finished. The czar is under house arrest with his family until it is determined what is to be done with him, but there is fear that some may try to free him in an attempt to reinstall him as ruler. The provisional government must know who is loyal to the new order. They’ve already arrested several members of the nobility who are not loyal.”
This was a new nightmare. I had thought Russia was done with the horror of political prisoners. I had thought the point of the revolution was to move forward.
I knew my stepfather. “You’re not going to be able to convince him to speak against the man even if he needs to do it to save himself.”
The baron sighed. “He has to speak the oath. He doesn’t have to mean it.”
“You want him to lie?” I couldn’t imagine Papa doing that, either. His code of honor was very strong.
“He has to lie if he wants to survive. Please help me with this. I am not your stepfather’s enemy, Miss Mason. I would do anything for him. I owe a debt to him for something he helped me with in the past. I always pay my debts, and this may be the last chance I get.”
The last chance I get. The words were chilling and I finally understood that the baron was deadly serious.
“All right. Maybe you can convince him.” I took him upstairs to Papa’s bedroom and left the two men alone.
A little while later the baron came back down. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back at one o’clock to show him where to go.”
After the baron left, Zarja told me my stepfather didn’t want to see anyone. I explained to the boys what was happening, and a few minutes before one o’clock I was waiting in the hall as he came downstairs, taking each step very slowly and holding on to the railing with one hand. I hadn’t seen him in his full military uniform in a long time. It was too tight on him, the buttons straining to keep the coat together. He wore his dress sword and spurs on his boots, which jangled a little with each step. The Cross of St. George glinted on his chest.
“Should you wear that?” I asked. “You’ll call attention to yourself.” Dmitri had said it was too dangerous for soldiers to wear uniforms, though I realized that taking off the medal wouldn’t make him less conspicuous.
“I will wear it,” he said. “I was awarded it for service to my country, so I shall wear it. I am still serving my country. I will always serve my country. Whatever this new government asks, I will do.”