St. Petersburg, Russia
March, 1765

No time for farewells. No explanations. Lady Karina Gregorevicha Dobrova scurried down the Winter Palace hallway, cradling the newborn to her breast. Cold air brushed her face, a startling contrast to the warmth of the birthing chamber. She slipped into her room, her pulse pounding, her thoughts racing.

The empress’s edict stunned her anew at the sight of her two small trunks by the bed. Someone had already packed her things. A ragged breath caught in her throat.

I don’t want to leave!

But she must. With a heavy heart, she set the baby down on the coverlet and quickly wrapped his tiny body in an additional blanket. Keeping a close eye on him, she tossed her thickest woolen cloak around her shoulders, flipped the fur-trimmed hood up, and gathered the baby in her arms.

“Poor little mite. Cast out into the cold on the day you were born.” She gave the infant a gentle hug. Tears welled in her eyes. “And me, along with you.” Fear and discontent knotted her stomach as she left her palace apartment, her friends, and the excitement of court life, for who knew how long.

She hastened down the service stairs, mindful of the precious bundle she carried. The servants she passed along the way didn’t seem overly interested in a lady-in-waiting who carried a fussing infant. Thank goodness. A cordial nod satisfied them for now, and she hurried on until she reached the heavy wooden door leading to the inner courtyard. There, she paused, and drew in a deep breath.

Once she stepped outside, the rumors would fly. No lady disappeared from court without a slur against her person. Karina’s reputation, regardless of her status as a young widow, would be bandied about like wet laundry lashed against a rock. She dropped her head in resignation. There was naught to be done about it. Duty took precedence.

The empress’s illegitimate son must be protected at all costs. If the sickly heir-apparent Paul died, the recently widowed Empress Catherine might choose to marry her lover, and decree his progeny as heirs to the throne. Karina might be holding a future Tsar of Russia!

The weight of her responsibility made her knees weak. If the Romanov bloodline purists discovered the baby’s whereabouts, they’d kill him, and Karina along with him. She prayed they didn’t know the newborn existed. The empress had disguised her pregnancy well beneath her voluminous skirts. Even so, the vile odor of scandal constantly drifted from courtier to courtier.

After casting a quick look over her shoulder at the empty hallway, she stepped to the window beside the door and peered outside, to ensure everything was set before she exposed the infant to the cold. Beyond the frosty windowpanes, snowflakes sifted down from the overcast sky onto the winter carpet blanketing the city of St. Petersburg. A closed carriage waited near the entrance, as the empress had promised. The wooden wheels had been removed and replaced with snow runners connected to each axle by three spokes.

One of the two chestnut steppe horses harnessed to the carriage shook his mane, spraying icy pellets onto the shaggy winter coat of the placid horse beside him. His harness partner suffered the indignity with indifference.  On the other hand, the grey warhorse roped to the back of the carriage blew plumes of frosty air through his nostrils and stamped his hooves, eager to depart.

She knew exactly how he felt. If she must leave the Winter Palace, the sooner, the better.

A man donned in a long fur coat, fur boots, a thick fur hat, and a wool muffler around his face, emerged from the far side of the carriage.  She leaned closer to get a better look and her breath fogged the window. A quick swipe with her cloaked forearm cleared a viewing circle. He certainly wasn’t her brother, whom she expected to see loading his baggage into the rear boot.  Too tall.  Too broad.  Rather than hunch forward into the biting arctic air, he pressed his shoulders back in a military bearing, oblivious to the freezing temperature. Undoubtedly an officer of the Imperial Guard, her official escort.

Where was Mikhail?

The baby fussed when she inadvertently clutched him tighter. She stepped back from the drafty window, easing her grip on the infant, and cooed at him. Not satisfied, he mewled like a kitten. Karina stuck her finger in the baby's mouth, and marveled at the warmth and pull on her appendage. A funny flutter rippled low in her belly, distracting her from the view outside. He, who had no name, scrunched his eyes closed in baby bliss. Karina smiled down at the little fellow, already in love with him.

The courtyard door flew open, letting in a swirl of snow and frigid air.

She jumped back, clasping the baby protectively to her chest.

The man in fur stomped inside and halted as soon as he saw her. Her pulse stuttered. To most passersby, he would be unrecognizable wrapped in all that fur, but she knew those deep blue eyes. She still occasionally dreamt of his mesmerizing gaze.

Yurik Antonevich Treshek. War hero. A friend of Gregory Orlov, the empress’s lover. An officer in the Preobrazhensky Regiment of the Imperial Guards. The first man she’d kissed.

And shouldn’t have.          

Oh, Lord.

He studied her face for a long moment. As she stared back, heat surged through her body. Memories of the masquerade ball where they’d met swirled in his eyes. The candlelight chandeliers cast a glow upon the ballroom’s gold ornamentation. The polished parquet floors shone brightly. Jewels sparkled on the women’s dresses and the men’s jackets. Hushed conversations buzzed around her, vying with the musicians’ melodious tempo.

She remembered her gloved hand on top of his as they danced down the lines, the warmth and strength in his arms as he twirled her through a country dance, how he grasped her hand and rubbed his thumb over the top in a sensual dance all its own. The look that said he wanted her. The game of hide and seek. The long, sensuous kiss.

The guilt.

Yurik broke her out of her reverie by glancing down at the baby in her arms. His voice muffled behind his woolen scarf, he asked, "How many trunks in your apartment?"

"Two," she said, amazed she could speak. Her heart beat like the thunder of a hundred hooves.

Yurik nodded and loped up the steps two at a time.

Oh, virgin Mother. Of all the royal guards who could’ve escorted her from the palace, did it have to be Yurik? She hadn’t thought about him for a long time, and yet when their eyes met, it was as though no time had passed at all.

One night of foolish abandon, years of separation and now he leapt back into her life when she didn’t need complications.

Heaven help her.

She stared at his receding figure as he climbed the staircase at the end of the hallway. What would’ve happened if they’d shared that youthful kiss before her betrothal? Or if he’d approached her after her husband’s death?

Don’t think about that now! He’d followed the path he was meant to travel and she must follow hers.

The baby was her priority now, and he was hungry.

As she gripped the door handle, she couldn’t resist one last look up the stairs. Yurik had stopped and braced his hands on the banister, watching her. He’d pulled down the scarf covering his face, but he was too far away for her to see his expression. Still, she swallowed hard at the tug between them.

No! He’s out of my reach now, and not the same man I was infatuated with six years ago!

With determination straightening her spine, she turned away, and fled through the door.

Her boots sank ankle deep into the snow as she dashed the short distance to the carriage. The sooner she delivered the infant to his foster parents, the sooner she could return home.

"He’s hungry,” she said through the open carriage window to the young wet-nurse waiting inside. One-handed, she tugged open the unmarked door, impatient to relinquish the mewling baby.

 “Thank goodness,” the wet-nurse said, baring a swollen breast, oblivious to the cold or prying eyes. “My teats are aching for a warm mouth.”

Taken aback by the girl’s bluntness, Karina paused on the carriage step, keenly aware of the baby nestled against her breast, and equally surprised by the sudden tightness in her chest.

Brusquely, she bent forward and handed over the newborn. The babe’s tiny lips puckered as he sought nourishment. Karina looked on with envy. If only her husband had given her a child…

"Another bastard in Empress Catherine's court," a voice muttered from behind her.

She spun around and gave her younger brother a scathing look. “Mikhail! Shush!”  Was he out of his mind speaking so?

Hadn’t he been sworn to secrecy as she had? She frowned at his lack of concern, and then it dawned on her that he must not know it was the empress’s baby.  The child could belong to any lady of the court who dallied with someone she shouldn’t have. Either way, he must keep his derision to himself. “Comments like that will bring you trouble.”

He ignored her, his attention focused on the wet-nurse’s bared bosom. With a huff, Karina lifted her long skirts, entered the small space, and plopped down on the edge of the seat opposite the wet-nurse. She cast her brother an evil glare, pulled the door closed, stopping short of a loud slam. No need to draw attention to themselves.  She leaned out the window, blocking the suckling baby from Mikhail's view. “Go assist with my luggage. Someone is bound to interfere if we don’t hurry, and I don’t want to answer any questions.”

He raised his brows at her brusque tone, and then turned at the sound of the palace door opening and closing. “I’ll be on the box,” he mumbled.

The coach rocked as he climbed to the driver’s seat. Yurik approached, carrying a trunk on each shoulder. She stared with awe at his display of strength. Once more, his probing gaze caught hers and held.  

What would he say when he finally spoke to her? An apology for his behavior at the ball seemed too much to expect. Condolences for a husband who passed away long ago? Sadly, they had nothing to say to each other. The past no longer mattered and they certainly had no future together.

As he neared, Karina pulled her head back in and dropped the leather window shade.

The wet nurse shifted the babe to a more comfortable position and smiled at Karina. “He’s quite strong, yes?”

Karina watched the baby suckle. “He seems to have a big appetite.”

The girl laughed. “Not the babe. The imperial guard masquerading as a bear. Do you know him?”

“We met once.” Her gaze slid down to her lap where she toyed with a loose embroidery thread on her cape. “A long time ago.” She raised her chin and stared resolutely at her traveling companion. “I know little of him now.”

The wet-nurse eyed her suspiciously. “Your meeting must’ve been special to make you blush like that.” She pulled the baby away from her breast, turned him, and realigned his mouth with her other breast. With a sigh of pleasure, she leaned her head back against the tufted leather.

Pressure squeezed Karina’s heart. She set her boots on the coal filled foot warmer and huddled down into her cape.

Not simply special…

Magical.