one should be allowed to victimize another human being, and

he had victimized both Etaine and herself. It made no

difference that he knew nothing about the child. Nicholas

Savron’s arrogance was intolerable and she had punished him.

Why did it leave her feeling so lackluster and drained?

She would think no more of him, she decided. She would

sleep and gain strength for the struggles to come. She sat up,

drew back the filmy bed curtain, and blew out the flame in the

oil lamp on the bedside table. Darkness. Sudden,

overpowering darkness that smothered and took her breath.

She was excruciatingly aware of the closeness of the room, of

the locked door holding her captive. She found herself panting,

her heart pounding wildly, she was smothering with the sense

of her own helplessness.

Etaine. Was this how Etaine felt when she was attacked by

that horrible breathlessness? Dear God, how could the child

bear it so patiently? Etaine was a prisoner in so many ways, a

prisoner of her illness, a prisoner of the cage, a prisoner of her

monster of a father. In her place Silver would have gone mad

or broken herself fighting against the bars of her helplessness

trying to escape. Yet how much longer could Etaine withstand

the kind of treatment she was receiving? She must be freed,

and to do that Silver must free herself.

She suddenly leaned forward, her hand fumbling in the

darkness until the lamp was once again lit. That was better. At

least the light banished the smothering sensation. She lay

down again, drawing the muslin sheet up to her throat and

turning on her side to gaze at the oil lamp on the nightstand a

few feet away. Seen through the sheer batiste of the bed

curtain, the flickering flame appeared like a golden chimera,

she thought absently. Would Nicholas return tonight? Probably

not. He had told her he would seek out another woman, so she

doubted she would see him before morning.

She was glad, relieved, she told herself. This time alone

would allow her to think of Etaine and recover her strength of

purpose.

Silver was asleep.

Her golden cheek was cradled on the softness of the white

muslin of the pillow, her dark lashes forming feathery shadows

on the beautiful line of her high cheekbones. She slept deeply,

like a child exhausted from a day at play.

Nicholas stood in the doorway, his hand clenched on the

china doorknob, his gaze on the sleeping woman in bed.

Dammit, it wasn’t fair for her to look so innocently vulnerable.

This was the woman who had stabbed Mikhail with her

dagger, who had taunted him with her body, who had

confessed to frequenting whorehouses. Why was there no sign

of dissipation or corruption on her face?

He softly closed the door and crossed the room to stand

beside the bed. The clean line of her cheek possessed an air of

purity in the mellow pool of light radiating from the oil lamp

on the nightstand. As he watched, her rose-pink lips parted and

she sighed, her cheek moving restlessly on the pillow as if

fierce wariness still held her in thrall. How deeply must that

wariness be embedded to erect barriers even while she slept.

God, no child should feel such a strong need to protect herself,

he thought with a strange tightness constricting his chest.

Child. He had not thought of her as a child before this. In

spite of her youth, she had seemed as totally adult and

womanly as any Eve or Delilah. While she was awake he had

seen only the strength and the fire of her. Hell and damnation,

that was all he wanted to see. He didn’t want to think of her as

a child growing up torn between Indian and white and yet

wanted by neither. He didn’t want to remember how painful it

was being uprooted from the land you loved and sent to live

among strangers. All he wanted was to lie down beside her in

this bed and lose himself in her body. It was passion not

tenderness he wanted from Silver. Yet he couldn’t deny it was

tenderness he was feeling for her now. Aching poignant

tenderness that was almost unbearable in its intensity.

Unexplain-able, frustrating tenderness. His hand impulsively

reached out to touch the flowing richness of her hair.

Then he stopped, his hand dropping to his side. His wish

not to wake her was as unexplainable as the gentleness

coursing through his veins. He had come here tonight to begin

the first foray in the battle to which she had challenged him. In

the past hours he had indulged himself with two bottles of

wine and the cloying attention of several voluptuous women.

The wine had only made him morose and the women had no

effect upon him whatever. It was Silver Delaney he wanted

and Silver Delaney he would have.

But he knew now he would not have Silver Delaney

tonight.

He turned down the wick of the crystal-prismed oil lamp,

blew out the small lingering flame, and moved toward the door

in darkness. His Cossack training told him he was a fool to let

an enemy rest and gain strength, and his body told him he was

worse than a fool not to appease the lust besetting it. He

smiled crookedly as his hand clpsed on the knob of the door.

Oh, well, it was said that the angels had a special blessing for

fools and madmen, and God knew, he had need of all the help

he could get from that elite circle. He would search out an

empty stateroom and lie chastely in its bed, planning his

campaign against the dubious virtue of Silver Delaney.

The thought of chastity in connection with himself caused

his smile to become a chuckle of genuine amusement as he

quietly slipped out of the stateroom and locked the door

behind him.

4

„Awaken, sweet damsel.“ A knock had sounded on the door

and the deep masculine voice that immediately followed was

definitely not that of Nicholas Savron. „I’ve brought you a

breakfast fit for the gods. Well, perhaps not the gods, they

were noted for very peculiar tastes at times, but certainly fit

for anyone who inhabits this mortal plane.“

Silver sat up hurriedly, pushing an unruly strand of hair

behind her ear and automatically pulling the sheet and velvet

spread up to her throat. She was just in time, for the door was

unlocked and a handsome young man strode into the stateroom

carrying a tray, kicking the door shut behind him with one

elegantly shod foot. „I hope you’re hungry. Mikhail insisted

you must have everything from eggs to fried fish.“ His bright

blue eyes gleamed with both amusement and curiosity. „I told

him it was very foolish of him to give you added nourishment,

considering what you did to him on only schoolroom fare, but

Mikhail seldom listens to me. He considers Nicky the only

person who deserves his attention.“ He set the tray on the

bedside table, his gaze appraising her with frank interest. „You

don’t appear lethal. I find it difficult to believe you stabbed

Mikhail and put Nicky to flight.“

„Who are you?“ Silver asked bluntly.

„My apologies.“ The young man nodded formally. „I’m

Count Valentin Marinov, and I’m delighted to make your

acquaintance. Of course, I’d be more delighted if you’d tell

Nicky what he wants to know so that we can return to Russia.“

His gaze wandered to her smooth, naked shoulders only half

concealed by the velvet spread she was clutching. „You may

find it difficult to eat unless you release your fierce grip on

that coverlet. Are you, by any fortunate chance, naked beneath