She shook a warning finger in his face. “A wise man does not praise himself going into battle, he praises himself coming out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PETERHOF, THE SUMMER PALACE of the Emperor of Russia, was a tribute to Emperor Peter’s fascination with the seas and the sheer force of his will.
Stretching along the Gulf of Finland, the grand palace separated the upper and lower parks that had been designed by the French architect Leblond, a student of Le Notre who had created the Versailles gardens. Leblond (along with his fellow architects) secured his own fame with his exquisite Grand Cascade that began at the front of the palace and directed the channel of water through sixty-four fountains and past hundreds of gilt bronze statues that glorified the sea gods and goddesses. At the bottom of the Cascade was the mighty Samson Fountain that Peter had constructed to proclaim his victory over Sweden.
The palace itself had been built with large windows and terraces to admire the view, and beneath Peter’s daughters’ rule it had been expanded by Rastrelli. The talented architect added a floor to the central Baroque building and connected two sweeping wings with golden domed pavilions at each end.
It truly was a masterpiece, Leonida had to acknowledge as she stepped from the carriage and paused to admire the brilliant yellow structure trimmed with white that glowed like a jewel beneath the flames of a thousand torches.
A pity that her nerves were so tightly knotted that, for once, her invitation to the palace was more a punishment than a treat to be savored.
Allowing herself to be swept along with her large party of elegantly attired companions, her heart thudded with a painful dread.
Damn Stefan.
When Herrick had arrived at the cottage to return her to St. Petersburg she had been certain that she had seen the last of the Duke of Huntley. She was once again surrounded by the protection of her family and any hope he could have harbored at continuing their affair was at an end. What could possibly keep him in Russia?
The aggravating man, however, refused to accept the inevitable.
He had shown up at her house demanding to see her, and while she had managed to have him turned away, she had discovered this morning that he still possessed the means to force a confrontation.
Why else would he have accepted an invitation to dinner with Alexander Pavlovich?
The devious duke had to know that she would be terrified at the thought he would expose her mother’s foolishness to the Czar and confess her true reasons for traveling to England. What better means of forcing her from her home?
Clenching her teeth, Leonida climbed the wooden steps of the Gala Staircase. About her the milling guests whispered in awe at the dazzling display of gilded garland and flowers that decorated the white walls along with golden mythological statues tucked into shallow alcoves. Even the wrought-iron railing was decorated with traces of gilt.
Leonida paused on the wide landing, pretending to study the two female statues representing spring and summer that towered on pedestals connecting the railing. It was more than a simple appreciation for their flowing robes and graceful features. She needed to escape her chaperones without the tedious necessity of inventing some excuse.
Once certain she had escaped notice among the crowd, Leonida continued up the stairs, determinedly heading toward a side door once she reached the formal hallway rather than continuing on to the reception rooms. From there she hoped to be able to scan the guests from the shadows. She had to find Stefan before he could meet with Alexander Pavlovich.
She had just reached the door when a hand reached to grasp her arm, keeping her from her escape.
“Leonida?”
She swallowed a sigh of resignation as she turned to greet the older man attired in a plain black jacket and white wa
istcoat.
This was one gentleman she could not dismiss with a frown.
“Herrick.”
Waiting for her to perform a graceful curtsy, Herrick regarded her with a suspicious gaze.
“I did not realize that you would be attending tonight. Alexander Pavlovich mentioned that the Countess was still recovering from her illness.”
Leonida smoothed her hand down the gold satin ball gown that was embroidered with rubies along the low-cut bodice and tiny puff sleeves that barely caught the edge of her shoulders. Her pale curls were loosely piled on top of her head and a wide ruby ribbon encrusted with diamonds encircled her throat, disguising the cut that was rapidly healing.
She had told herself that she had chosen this particular gown because the Czar would expect her to appear at her best. It had nothing to do with the infuriating Duke of Huntley.
“Princess Rostovsky was kind enough to request I join her party,” she retorted.
If she hoped that would be enough to send Herrick on his way, Leonida was doomed to disappointment.
“I trust the Countess will soon be fully restored to health?”