Golden Paradise Read Online Free Page A

Aleksandropol completely unharmed," Lisaveta added with the self-assurance Stefan found so annoying.
    "Good marksmanship," the Prince said evenly, his irritation evident in the hard line of his jaw, "is a given with the native tribes. And the Winchester .44 round will outrun a horse, guaranteed. Your horse might have saved you and it might not have."
    Lisaveta's temper was as quick to ignite as the Prince's, but since he'd saved her life, she felt she owed him a certain degree of politeness despite his rebuking tone. She would have liked to point out that her usefulness to a Bazhi was alive and not dead, but smiling instead, as reared to politeness as the Prince, she said with good grace, "You're right, of course." She had learned long ago that men preferred being right, and in circumstances where arguing was counterproductive, she always allowed them that privilege. He was, after all, transporting her to safety.
    Stefan's ill humor was somewhat mollified by her ready acquiescence, so he refrained from saying thank-you and having the last word on the subject. Countess Lazaroff's next statement, however, destroyed his short-lived complacency.
    "I'll need some money," she said, "when we reach Aleksandropol. If you could lend me a few hundred roubles I could find lodgings tonight. After a long day of this abominable heat, I'd seriously consider selling my soul for a bath." Unfamiliar with any of the nuances of feminine wiles, educated to establish effectively, then deal with a problem, and perhaps at base just as indulged and spoiled as the Prince, she was unaware her simple request would not be viewed as simple at all.
    Stefan's resentment returned full force at her damnable tone. He also knew that with thirty-thousand troops bivouacked in Aleksandropol, the only way anyone would find a room was by rank, title and large sums of money. She was a woman, though, despite his own lack of interest in her rotund person. No doubt she could find accommodations on her own for a price other than gold. But she was also Count Lazaroff's daughter; he couldn't simply abandon her to the army's train with the other refugees as he would have were she a peasant. He supposed, he thought with a silent sigh, he was obliged to act the gentleman. "Allow me, Countess," he said, only because he'd been taught to protect the weaker sex, "to find you accommodations tonight."
    "How thoughtful," Lisaveta replied, as if she hadn't recognized the coercion prompting him, as if she didn't know how hazardous her position would be, alone in an army camp.
    "My pleasure, mademoiselle," he murmured. They could have been at a court soiree for all their superficial politesse.
    "I so appreciate your help." Lisaveta almost choked on the words, for Prince Bariatinsky was the epitome of all she despised in the aristocracy. Too rich, too handsome, too spoiled by both his fame and infamy. She'd recognized him shortly after she regained consciousness, realizing then why he'd seemed familiar to her at first sight. Engravings of the Prince in uniform were prevalent throughout Russia women collected them to pine over.
    At twenty-two he had been the conqueror of the Citadel of Tubruz, at twenty-five the savior and avenging angel of the survivors of the massacre at Mirum. His victories in Asia had subdued at last the Khanates of Khiva and Kokand. In fact, the youngest general ever gazetted in the history of the Russian army was a universal hero. He was the famous and fearless Prince Stefan, always dressed in his white Chevalier Gardes uniform and mounted on his black Orloff steed, challenging death and the enemy at the head of his cavalry.
    He was also famous—or notorious—for his love life.
    And she suspected the women fondly collecting his likeness were more interested in his amorous exploits than his military ones.
    "My pleasure," he tightly replied, wishing for his part that he were with his Gypsy lover, Choura, in the cool altitudes of his mountain lodge, miles away from