Russian Winter Nights

Russian Winter Nights
Linda Skye

Russia, 1733There is no joy in the Yuletide season for Ekaterina Romanova. As the Empress's niece, she knows all too well the wickedness that lies behind the gilded façade of the Winter Court. But an intimate encounter with a handsome stranger offers her a few moments of escape, and awakens her to forbidden desires…Andrey Kvasov is stunned to learn that the beautiful peasant girl he almost made love to in the woods is really a princess. If their mutual passion is discovered, they will both be in grave danger-for the cruel empress has designs of her own on the young architect, and betrayal will be severely punished …

Russia, 1733

There is no joy in the Yuletide season for Ekaterina Romanova. As the empress’s niece, she knows all too well the wickedness that lies behind the gilded facade of the Winter Court. But an intimate encounter with a handsome stranger offers her a few moments of escape, and awakens her to forbidden desires....

Andrey Kvasov is stunned to learn that the beautiful peasant girl he almost made love to in the woods is really a princess. If their mutual passion is discovered, they will both be in grave danger—for the cruel empress has designs of her own on the young architect, and betrayal will be severely punished....

Russian Winter Nights

Linda Skye

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Russia is a land of startling beauty, mysterious legends and majestic architecture. Its rich history has always fascinated me, especially anything related to emperors, empresses and revolutions. When I finally got to visit St. Petersburg, one of the things that struck me most was the breathtaking decor of the Catherine Palace. There were so many beautiful places to admire: the Amber Room, the Picture Hall and, of course, the Hall of Light—which was the initial inspiration for this story. I, just like our heroine, was utterly captivated by the golden glow of that great room. I hope you will be transported to that lavish palace through this story, which is dedicated to anyone who has ever been entranced by brilliant buildings.

Contents

Chapter One (#u8cba1645-c4cd-5d44-b726-832524d8373b)

Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

Ekaterina Romanova, the eldest, most beautiful daughter of Baron Dimitri and the niece of the reigning Empress of Russia, was standing amongst the clucking chickens outside the palace kitchens, dressed in a plain peasant smock and woollen overcoat. Her thick, dark curls were unbound and tumbled carelessly down her back. Her smooth complexion was free of fashionable white powder.

If her ageing father could see her in her current, unadorned state as she stood in a place reserved for the common folk, he would probably die of a heart attack. Her mother would swoon. Her younger sisters would tut their disapproval and hide their faces in shame.

But Ekaterina simply could not care less about what they all might think of her.

“Come, children,” she called in her sweet, chime-like voice. “Come have some bread!”

A flock of hungry children surrounded the young noblewoman, their grubby hands reaching out and their sweet, high voices calling out excitedly. For Ekaterina was passing out large, steaming loaves of freshly baked bread for the children to take home to their nearly starving families.

“Bread! Bread!” the children cried, and whistled excitedly.

“Yes,” Ekaterina laughed. “Bread! But don’t push—there’s enough for everyone!”

Within just a few minutes, Ekaterina had nothing left in her wicker basket but crumbs. She smiled, satisfied, as thick wet snowflakes drifted down around her.

It was nearly Christmas, and the bread she had just distributed would be a boon to the families of the palace servants. She could imagine them smiling around their bland pots of stew with hot slices of crusty bread to warm their bellies, when normally they would be carefully rationing out tiny portions of grain in a desperate bid to save up enough food for the endless winter, when frost would make life nearly unbearable for most.

Hardly a happy Christmas, she mused silently.

Ekaterina resisted the urge to frown. In the North, her father tried to treat his serfs fairly, and because of the example she saw in his policies, she had always campaigned for the rights of the peasants, who were the working backbone of their livelihood. But here, at Catherine Palace, the lavish rococo residence of Russian emperors and empresses, the peasant servants were treated little better than donkeys and dogs. They were reduced to scrounging about for the most minimal of sustenance, accepting the crumbs that the Empress had tossed their way because, simply put, there was no other choice available to them.

Ekaterina grimaced at the thought of her aunt, Empress Anna of Russia. She was a gargantuan woman, her pudgy features swollen from years of consuming the very tastiest and fattiest of foods. Ekaterina was almost surprised that her aunt could still breathe in her tightly laced corset.

But what was even worse than her careless, decadent lifestyle was Empress Anna’s cruel and vindictive nature.

Ekaterina slowly wandered towards the edge of the walled courtyard, her delicate brows gently creasing in thought. The summons for Ekaterina to join the imperial court in the city of Tsarskoye Selo had come as an unpleasant surprise to the Romanov family in the North. Empress Anna had always distanced herself from the old nobility, especially her siblings—so to ask for her brother’s youngest daughter to join the court did not bode well.

Contrary to what others might have thought, such a summons was not an honour—it was more likely a subtle declaration of war. Ekaterina, as a young, unmarried noblewoman, could be used as a political hostage—or humiliated for sport. Just last year, a member of the old gentry had displeased Empress Anna in some trivial way, and she had forced the elderly man to entertain her court by stripping naked and squawking like a bird in a specially constructed gilded cage. Even worse, the nobleman’s extended family had abruptly and unexplainably disappeared during the harsh winter, no doubt thanks to the actions of Empress Anna’s personal police squad.

Since arriving a mere week ago, Ekaterina had so far managed to avoid close contact with her aunt, opting to stay hidden behind the jewelled plumes of the headdresses of more ambitious court women. But being inconspicuous in such a gaudy, debauched court took quite a bit of effort, and Ekaterina could not help but resort to old tricks to keep her sanity—such as strolling anonymously through the peasant areas.

As she reached the edge of the walled courtyard, she heard soft, tinkling laughter. Pausing, she looked over to where a small gaggle of children was weaving pine boughs together to make crude Christmas ornaments. They were nothing like the expensive, gaudy contraptions that her aunt had commissioned for the Christmas season. Unlike the crystal baubles and bright candles, these simple decorations were dotted with crimson holly berries and strung together with tatty bits of string.

But they were even more beautiful in Ekaterina’s eyes.

The children’s ruddy faces shot up as she approached, her boots crunching over the freshly fallen snow. Ekaterina smiled warmly, her dainty fingertips skimming over the fragrant pine needles.

“They’re beautiful, children,” she said encouragingly.

The children’s smiles widened. Ekaterina patted each child on the head and leaned down to whisper.

“Come see me in the kitchens tomorrow,” she told them with a wink. “I’ll have some sweet treats for you to share.”

With that, she rose and resumed her stroll, warmed by the squeals of excited giggling left in her wake. She followed the stone wall to an iron gate, which she pushed open. As she stepped through the archway, a lovely winter landscape met her eyes. Brilliantly white snow carpeted the expansive meadows, broken only by a few clusters of evergreen trees. Ekaterina stepped farther away from the palace and closer to the wilderness, relishing the cold, crisp air on her face and the bright blue sky stretching as far as the eye could see.

And then she saw him.

A man was standing in the centre of the field, his the only tracks in the glittering snow. He was facing away from her, his thumbs hooked in his trouser pockets. Even though a cold wind stirred the fabric of his loose white shirt, he did not move—he didn’t even shiver! He was so still that the white puffs of his breath were the only indication that he was a living, breathing man and not a statue.

But what a statue he would have made! His figure could have made any of the marble mythical gods envious.

Even from behind, he cut a striking silhouette against the perfect blue of the horizon. He was tall, long and lean—a fact accentuated by his billowing linen shirt and fitted wool trousers. His shoulders were broad, and he had dark, tousled hair that did not quite conceal a square jaw covered in rough stubble. Ekaterina swallowed breathlessly as he shifted his weight. And then he began to walk away, his shoes crunching over the new snow as he wandered towards the copse of trees that hid a small brook from sight.

He was leaving!

Ekaterina’s feet were rooted to the spot although she desperately didn’t want to lose sight of the stranger. She was intensely curious, but at the same time, trailing after a stranger seemed a terribly dangerous idea. Ekaterina bit her lip, her brow furrowing as the distance between them grew. Should she risk revealing herself, risk her safety for a glimpse of this handsome stranger?

Just then, the man paused and turned slightly to the side. A breeze lifted his dark locks, which played across his perfect profile. Ekaterina’s stomach erupted in fluttering.

Yes, she told herself. She just couldn’t help herself.

Resolute and determined, Ekaterina followed him, carefully putting her feet in his large footprints so as to remain a silent and unseen follower. Although, she thought with a wry smile, he would see her immediately if he but turned around. Just a quick glimpse of his face, she told herself. A quick glance, and her curiosity would be satisfied. As she trailed after his loping strides, she found herself wondering if he would be angry at her intrusion or interested in her audacity?