"If you are so willing, you won't linger at my side, keeping me from making friends," she said bluntly in Polish.
Saint-Germain bowed a second time. "As you wish," he said, and went to listen to the musicians, taking care to find a place to stand where he could watch Zozia without being obvious about it; for the sake of her reputation in this city, it was the least he could do.
Text of a letter from Lovre Pisek to Zozia, Ksiezna Nisko, written in code and delivered by private messenger on July 1st, 1704.
To the most exalted Ksiezna, the devoted greetings of your servant Lovre Pisek.
Ksiezna,
I am saddened to report that in spite of all my efforts, I can find no trace of your missing husband. The rumor that he had gone over to the Sultan in Constantinople has turned out to be false. I have begun to wonder if the suggestion that he has taken ship for the New World, or the Far East, may be accurate after all.
I do not wish to be discouraging, but I am running out of places to look, and information to pursue. I can remain on the hunt, if you like, but I would be remiss if I did not tell you that at this point I think it highly unlikely that I will find the Hercegek. I realize this is not what you want to hear, most gracious Ksiezna, and I apologize for the distress you must feel. Let me extend to you the sympathy that I, and those in my employ, feel for your unfortunate predicament.
Your brother continues to insist that your husband is fighting with II Ferenc Rakoczi against the Austrians, but the contacts I have made with those forces indicate that your husband is not one of Rakoczi's supporters. If you wish, I will send in my agent again, to try to find out more, but I believe we have the truth of the situation already.
There is one letter we have found that suggests he might have
joined a company going to South America, and I am about to see if there is any truth in the rumor. After I return to Brno, I am planning to go to Spain in two months--to Barcelona, Valencia, and Cadiz, then on to Madrid--to find out if your husband was seen at any of the travelers' taverns, or if his name appears on any record of passengers that might reveal his whereabouts. If you like I will press on to Bilbao and Lisboa in Portugal as well, for the same purpose.
I assure you, Ksiezna, that I remain
Yours to command,
Lovre Pisek
May 10th, 1704, at Vienna
5
"Oh, look!" Zozia said, standing on tip-toe to peek out Saint-Germain's small bedroom window. "A doe and her fawn. Right by the trees. Aren't they pretty?" The brief dusk of night was giving way to the first flush of dawn, and Zozia was up in her elegant flounced wrapper, her butter-colored hair as yet in a long, loose braid down her back. She turned so Saint-Germain could see the rise of her breasts and offered him a provocative smile.
"Keep your voice down; the others are still sleeping," Saint-Germain recommended from his single chair, where he busied himself writing his account of the last week for Augustus' confidential secretary, Klaus Krems, on his portable desk. "And you do not want to alert the deer, unless you want to eat venison tonight." Although he no longer wore a splint, he was still writing with his left hand while his right regained its flexibility. This was his third day without strapping for his ribs.
"That's horrid," she said, making a face.
"But reasonable," he assured her. "There are hundreds of working men who would be pleased to have a decent meal of fresh meat, as would most of this household."
"You're being cruel," she complained, thrusting her lower lip forward.
"Not I," he responded. "I would just as soon the deer live."
She was silent for almost a minute, then exclaimed, "Oh, but do come and look." She held out her hand to him. "Please. For me."
He set the portable desk on his bed and rose to his feet, the hem of his comfortable black-silk chamber-robe just brushing the floor as he went to the window. "Out by the trees, you said?" He kept a little distance between them as he glanced toward the stand of birches at the corner of the house; while he watched, the doe minced through the pale trunks toward the stable, her fawn following her by bounds and starts. "Clever creature--she wants the hay and grain. The horses may protest the raid."
"If we feed her, we could tame her," Zozia suggested, laying her hand on his arm. "We have tame deer at home."
"That would not be kind. They would be venison all the sooner if they came to trust people; this isn't a private estate," Saint-Germain reminded her, aware of her gaze on him, and the nearness of her body. "Leave them to their occasional thefts, and hope no one sees their tracks." He started to turn away but was stopped as she pressed against him, her lips open and a hair's-breadth from his. He went utterly still.
"Don't you want me, Grofok?" she whispered, using his actual title, then brushed his mouth with hers. "My good, faithful, anonymous Grofok?"
"I cannot, Ksiezna," he said with a tranquility he did not feel.
"What do you mean,
cannot?
Aren't you a man?" She nudged her hip into his, as much of a challenge as an invitation. "Don't you long to possess me? Don't you lie awake and yearn for me? Isn't your blood singing with desire?"
As awkward as it was, she was right; her passion had stirred his own, and his many weeks of survival on the blood of his horses was taking a toll on him. "Zozia."
"Tell me, Grofok: isn't every fiber of your being urging you to ravish me?" She ran her finger down his chest to the cross-over of his chamber-robe.
He took a moment to answer. "Even if all that is true, it means nothing."
"How can it mean nothing?" Her pout turned taunting. "If you burn for me, surely you'll want to do all you can to ease your torment?"
"Our agreement made before we left Poland says that I will not compromise your marriage," he said quietly. "I gave my Word."
"I know," she said, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue.
"You have a right to expect me to keep it." There was no rebuke in his voice, only a slight world-weariness.
She made a breathless little laugh. "But you needn't break your Word in order to enjoy me. Surely there are ways you can ... can pleasure us both and not ... You know. You can keep your Word and revel in me, can't you?" Her sigh was languorous. "Flirting is amusing, but it's not the same."
He looked into her shining eyes, thinking back to Pentacoste and Estasia, to Avasa Dani and Heugenet, and to Nicoris. "It would be a reckless act, one that you might regret."
Her hands slid down the revers of his chamber-robe and stole under the silk to rest on his skin. "I would only regret it if you couldn't give me the gratification I lack. That would be insulting, and I wouldn't be inclined to approach you again. I'd have to find what I want elsewhere. There are many men without women in Sankt Piterburkh." She fingered his nipples. "It's been so
long.
My husband has been missing for almost a year--a
year."
Her neck smelled of attar-of-roses.
"All the more reason to be circumspect. You are being scrutinized both here and in Poland, and all you do will have implications for him." He wished he had found a woman to visit in her dreams, someone who would enjoy the delight of his presence and would not notice what little he had had from her, for then he would not have such a keen response to the Ksiezna's ministrations. Zozia was too tempestuous and too masterful to accept a dream; if only he were able to
find other sustenance. But women were in short supply, and he would never be so foolish as to seek out a dreaming woman among the household servants: that would lead to precisely the kind of exposure he could not afford.
She pinched his nipples; when she spoke, she sounded like a child with a new toy. "You do want me. I can feel it."
He stopped her before she explored his broad swath of scars, taking her hands and pulling them up to kiss them. "You are most tempting; I will not deny it." His voice was deep and musical, and she smiled receptively. "I would have to be well and truly dead not to want you," he told her, an ironic light in his dark eyes.
"Well then, why not? If you don't have to spend your seed in me ..." She kissed him again, this time with something approaching passion. "I need to be loved, Grofok. This is most difficult. You shouldn't make me have to tell you." When he said nothing, she went on. "It's been over a year I've been chaste, and ..." Her voice had dropped to less than a whisper. She took his head in her hands, and this time there was no doubt that her ardor had awakened fully; her tongue brushed his, then she pulled his lower lip into her mouth and held it gently with her teeth, only letting go when she felt Saint-Germain return her kiss. Then she gazed into his eyes, a triumphant smile showing her confidence. "My bed is nicer than yours, Grofok." She took his hand and led him around the partition. "Just keep in mind, that if you decide to tup me, I will scream and my servants will come and restrain you."
"You needn't worry," he said, feeling her arousal as if it were a spark within him.
Her bed was broad and the mattress deep, soft, and luxurious. Zozia pulled back the comforter and upper sheet, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Come. You'll like this," she said, patting the place beside her. "The servants won't mind. They suppose we must lie together, since they know us as man and wife." She giggled and reached out to pull at his chamber-robe. "Hurry. Hurry."
Again he hesitated. "I fear I may not give you the fulfillment you seek, and you have said this is of paramount importance to you," he said to account for his faltering as he thought of the risk he was taking.
"You have imposed necessary conditions on me, and they may limit the degree of satisfaction you will experience."
"How can you say this?" she asked sharply. "You're so ... so heedful of strictures."
"As you required of me," he said.
She kicked out negligently to show her annoyance at this delay. "Don't think to put me off, Grofok. I don't like being fobbed off like a servant."
"I don't want you screaming for help," he told her as he reached out and lifted the ruffle at the neck of her wrapper, letting it slide through his fingers. "So I will have to be sure you are content with what I offer you, and you will have no wish to scream." It was just the kind of thing she might do, he realized, if she thought she had a good reason for it; he touched the line of her clavicle, feeling her concupiscence welling, and felt his own need answer it.
"Go on," she prompted him.
"I am a fool," he said softly in Persian, but he loosened the four ties that held her wrapper closed, taking his time, drawing out the act so that she could increase her lascivity.
"You're making me wait," she chided him as the third tie was undone, but with a thrill in her words. "I don't want to wait."
"Do you want it to be over quickly?" he asked her as he bent down to kiss her bared shoulder, his kisses feather-light and tantalizing.
She wriggled in anticipation. "I want to have it last for hours and hou--"
"S-s-s-s-s-sh," he admonished her, then kissed her thoroughly, taking his time while he opened her wrapper, revealing her soft, vibrant, pampered skin, the color of new cream. Her face was rosy, her lips reddened from stimulation.
Saint-Germain laid his hand between her generous breasts, thinking that hers was the kind of figure Rubens liked to paint, eighty years ago. Not knowing how adventuresome she was, he chose a safe beginning; he caressed her opulent body, stroking her shoulders, her breasts, her waist, never hurrying, summoning sensations she had
never allowed herself to experience before. Where she sighed, he lingered, until every touch brought an indication of pleasure. With this to embolden him, he expanded his attentions and the variety of his touches, sometimes light and supple, sometimes eager and provoking. She made quiet murmurs as he continued, moving to follow the path of his hands; her breathing deepened and her eyes took on a brilliance that he had never seen before. Gradually a quiet rapture took hold of her and she gave herself over to what he was doing to her; her eyes were half-closed while she gave herself up to a growing frenzy of sensation. Feeling her excitement increasing, he interspersed his fondling with a variety of kisses, some teasing and evocative, some intensely exciting. When he finally began to explore the sea-scented folds at the top of her thighs, she quivered.
"And here ... I thought you ... were ... a monk," she gasped as he continued his gentle, adept seeking. She reached up to draw him down to her, her thighs flexing.
"Monks are said to be a randy lot." He stretched out beside her so that he in no way impeded her reaction to his skillful excitation. Gradually he felt her fervency center in the swollen nubbin between her legs, and he gave more concentration to its titillation.
Zozia made a little moan of disappointment. "Not yet ... not yet."
He felt her release begin deep within her, and he bent his head to her neck, and as the first spasms swept through her, he took what was essential to him while her frenzied ecstasy engulfed her. As her culmination faded, he resumed his caresses, this time to soothe her.
Residual shivers surged through her, and she smiled with a gratification that was almost feline. "You did that ... very well," she said at last.
"Thank you," he said, troubled by the vividness of her gratification; he could feel a lingering mania in her, a heat that would not be easily cooled.
"If I had known you were so experienced, I would have approached you sooner." She tugged on his arm. "I would like to think that you are as pleased as I am that this has occurred."
