I tossed another piece of the wheel onto the fire. I looked at her again, just a lump under my cape, one long blonde tendril of hair escaping. I had to close my eyes for an hour or I would fall face first into the sand.

I would not touch. Or breathe. Or think about anything but ... sleep.

I pulled back the cloak and settled down beside her. She stirred and sighed in sleepy protest, but did not awaken. I tried to sleep with my back to her, but my shoulder was hurting. After a time I gave in and just spooned myself against her body, wrapping my arm over her. Her hair caught in the stubble of my beard, the sweet woman scent of her filled my nostrils. I gave into exhaustion, her warmth and the bliss of sleep.

*******

From time to time
the shadows of the heart
tear down a man's pedestal;
and nothing remains,
and nothing is permanent under the rain:
only the shadows of the heart
pass through like an infinite curve,
and nothing stays:
only shadows of the heart.

Elias Letelier

His muttered words and jerks awoke me. I opened my eyes to the sensation of his warm body against my back, his breath whispering against the nape of my neck. I was warm as toast. The fire in front and his heat behind me.

He was having some sort of a dream, a nightmare perhaps.

" No, Adam," he muttered most mournfully. " Come away, my son. Come away."

He was dreaming of his boy. The thought made me sad, ache for him when I did not want to feel anything. There was not use trying to like this man or be his friend. I suspected that he would not let me.

It was strange. He was strange. It was as if he forgot who he was at times. Forgot to be stiff and unyielding, forgot that he had erected barriers. Like when he kissed me. Or when he got all stiff and possessive with Lieutenant Zalman over who was to take me home.

Or when he teased or smiled or laughed and those green eyes lit with such beautiful life. And then he would remember and the barriers and the shadows would go up again. Even more impenetrable than before. What could have caused him to be this way? The death of his wife, I supposed. He had loved her so dearly, he would let no one else in.

It was nice, I thought, having his body pressed against mine. He did it because he was tired and he needed the warmth. I turned slightly. There was enough light from the fire to gild his features, to allow me to study him. He couldn't relax, let go of his demons, even in sleep. How very sad for him.

Beautiful. My God, so beautiful. I think I am a little in love with him. I don't want to be but I am. Why would I want to love someone so odious. Is it just his beauty? Am I that shallow?

" Elena," he whispered again, clutching me tighter. The name on his lips made my stomach hurt with jealousy.

I woke first in the morning.

It had taken me a long time to find sleep again after he said his wife's name. I had lain there beside him in the dark wondering about her, imagining what she was like, imagining the two of them together. He was peaceful as he slept, the dreams stilled, his breathing soft and rhythmic, unlike my papa and Uncle Walter and even Ben, who snore so loudly it hurts one's ears. Sleeping in the soldier's camp is like nesting in a creek of croaking bullfrogs. It took a month to get used to sleeping in such a din.

The fire had gone out and my nose was cold as ice. I could see the entrance to the cave, the light that filtered in so bright it fairly glared. Snow, I thought. I had to have snowed. Where we lay it was still dark but I could make out shadows of crates and broken wagons in the faint light. I could see my breath as a frosty puff in the air.

He was still holding on to me tightly. His leg snug against my thigh. There was something else I hadn't expected, a hardness against my backside that surprised me greatly.

I know that it is quite natural for men to wake that way. I have heard the soldier's wives giggle about their men in the morning, about waking in the mood, but I never thought the evidence would be quite so interesting. Or so substantial.

I rubbed at my cold nose with my gloved hands. I still wore his fur lined gloves. Did I risk waking him? Or just stay where I was so he could get out of bed and do what ever it was that he needed to do to hide his problem. I could just decided to stay there and pretend that I was still asleep.

I opted for waking him. Let him be embarrassed. Let him scramble for an excuse. He was the one who had kissed me. He was the one who had climbed in beside me when he said that he was going to sit awake all night to tend the fire. He was the one hugging me and having dreams that made him hard and needy. He must have slept well because he obviously hadn't kept the fire going.

I was about to push off his arm and his thigh when he rolled off and spared me the trouble. He lay there on his back, taking the entire cloak with him. One hand was palm up on his forehead.

I sat up and leaned back on my heels, staring at him.

He had the gall to look handsome, even with his mussed hair and sleep-flushed cheeks. He scrubbed at his beard and then his nose with the back of his hand and yawned lazily. Then his eyes opened and he sat up, rubbing his shoulder. Our eyes met.

" Bonjour," he said. He yawned again." Je vous demande pardon."

He should ask my pardon after waking in the state he was in. " I don't speak French."

He sighed. " Oh. In the morning... I automatically think in French... Hello."

" Hello."

" It sounds as if the storm is over."

" I think it's snowed. Do you think we can get to camp now? "

He leaned forward, pushing his loosely curling russet hair off his face. I rather liked it down. It gave him a distinctly boyish look. He seemed far younger like that. " There'll be nothing to go back to, I fear, Miss White."

" What do you mean? Nothing to go back to? "

" The camps won't have survived the storm. Wood huts and canvas tents can't withstand such weather. We're better off to head back to Balaclava and see how they fared."

" I have to find my family."

" I don't want to scare you, but if they have survived it, they will have "

" If..." I cried. " What do you mean...if? "

" That storm probably did a lot of damage. Don't worry. We're lucky to have survived it ourselves. It's a damned good thing you weren't on the road with that pompous idiot, Zalman."

I shook my head. I wasn't going to admit that I did not like the Englishman any better than he did." What is it between you two?"

" I don't trust him."

" And he, Lieutenant Samuelle, does not trust you."

He smiled. " But you must have trusted me, else "

" I think that is quite beside the point. I'll know better next time. I'm sure he would have been quite competent and a gentleman. "

" More a gentleman than me? " He frowned darkly. "Undoubtedly, you're right."

"Do you think that the town is still there? "

" I'm sure there's a fair bit of damage but with some luck the buildings that are stone will be alright. The wooden ones, I'm not certain about. Storms like that can carry whole buildings away.

" How soon can we leave, Lieutenant? " I bit my lip. I was trying very hard not to cry, but the thought of my Uncle Walter and my brothers being hurt somewhere was a huge weight on my mind. They had to be well. They had survived the trip, cholera, three bloody battles.

" Don't be worried, Kita." He leaned toward me, taking my hand in his. " You know nothing yet. Don't waste your strength thinking the worst."

*****

We looked over the ridge after four hours of plodding in the snow. Michel had walked , insisting that I ride the horse, his warm cloak over my shoulders while he, dressed in my too small thin coat and a shawl made of gunny sacks, led the horse.

I could not believe that the storm had wrought such havoc. " My, God..." I just turned my face away from him as the tears began to spill. He pulled me into his shoulder in a rather gruff way and held me tightly against him.

" It's not so bad as it looks, ma belle. Not so bad. Look. Mrs. Seacoles's side of the street looks quite intact. They're already boarding up the windows."

I looked where he was pointing. He was right. There were people about. " It's very sad, Michel."

" Does this maybe convince you to go home to England? This is no place for you."

I pulled out of his arms." Of course it doesn't. And this is a good a place for me as any." I clutched tight to the gunny sack into which I had packed my precious sketch book. I limped at little further away from him.

" How is your foot? "

" It's nothing to speak of."

" You don't complain much, do you? "

" What would be the sense in that. Complaining never has gotten me anywhere."

He stared into my eyes and smiled. " You're a very different sort of girl, Miss White. You take some getting used to." He indicated that I should get back onto the horse so we could go the rest of the way.

I put my foot onto his bent thigh as he attempted to hoist me up by the waist onto the horse. The horse, uncertain of his footing, shied and knocked me back into Michel's long, lean body. I fell back on top of him into a billowy pile of new snow. I heard the breath leave his lungs on impact and we just lay there in the snow for a moment, too drained to get up. Then he rolled over me, looking down at my face, smiling slightly, a strange light in his eyes. With one finger he brushed a tendril of hair from my mouth.

I wanted him to kiss me again. I longed for it. Even as worried as I was about my loved ones, that was all I could think of, seeing his face, beautiful, even framed by a dirty, snow encrusted burlap sacking, his breathtaking eyes and perfect mouth.

No! Look at what had happened the last time. I did not want to see those shadows cloud his eyes again. I pushed away from him and stood, brushing madly at the snow that clung to his cloak.

After that I decided not to get on the horse. I really did not want to feel his arms around me, his hands on my waist. I didn't want to touch his hard shoulder.

I hoped to put as much distance between us as possible.

I was sitting on a bunk at Mrs. Seacole's hotel that night, warm at last, as safe as I could be given the destruction around me and the hell it would be to dig out of it. My sketchbook was open on my lap. I thumbed through it, looking at the things I had done.

I discovered something strange. The picture of him was gone, the half finished study. Had I lost it? Or had he taken it, slipped it into his jacket for some reason.

How very strange. How very strange that he should do that. I would have given it to him had he asked.

***********

December 12, 1854

My Dear Brother,

I thank you for the generous gifts and I thank you for looking after the matter of the pony for Adam. I hope you have settled it with him that his papa will not be giving him a pony for Christmas. I think he will have to be content with books and games and tin soldiers.

It is nearly mid December. It is bitter and cold but at least the snow has ceased to fall. I dread when it warms up and the carcases of dead horses and fallen men begin to appear.

The aftermath of the storm was horrendous. Nearly half of the British calvary horses broke loose. The French suffered some similar losses, but as we had barns and better armouries, we didn't lose anything near what the British have suffered.

Three British ships full of fodder, food and medical supplies had arrived in dock that day. They overturned, spilling the British stores upon the shore.

General Lucan was seen amidst the wreckage of his establishment with his head in his hands. Lord Cardigan and Adeline de Horsey were tossed about their yacht like so much flotsam. De Horsey has given up her uniform and returns to England this month. General Raglan continues to ail. I don't see him living the winter.

The saddest thing is that the men not layed low by injury and disease have been forced to act as pack mules to take the supplies back to their camps. I see them struggle, underfed and ill dressed along the roads. Some of them fall and are whipped for it until they rise again and carry on. It is barbaric the way the British officers treat their men..

As I have told you nothing good can come of this war, at least not for the British people. Nothing at all.

I have not seen Miss White since I left her at Miss Seacole's. Though I wonder how her family fares and how she herself is coping, I think it best that I do not see her unless she indicates that she would like my company. So far she has not indicated that to be her wish.

I think that she has good reason to not wish to see me...

********

Mrs. Seacole came in while I was seeing to some of the myriad chores that needed to be done. I was overwhelmed with work but it stopped me from thinking too much. It had been four days since Lt. Samuelle brought me back and I had not heard anything of my family.

I told myself that no news was good news.

" Nikita, there's someone here to see you."

My heart skipped a beat, I thought for a moment that it might be him. I knew he had sent things to Mrs. Seacole from the French camp, supplies she needed desperately. She was most grateful. She and the doctors spoke of his kindness daily especially when he arranged to have the window glass replaced.

It was not him, but Lt. Zalman. He removed the red pillbox cap from his rather small head and took my hand, raising it to his thin lips. I stared at his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. I had never noticed anything so prominent above Lt. Samuelle's high collar. " Miss White. I bring news for you. Won't you sit down? "

" Have you news of my family? Please, tell me straight out. How are they? "

" Your Uncle Walter is fine. They have taken him to Scutari, to the hospital there. He has a lung fever, but he should recover."

I didn't quite allow that news to digest. For now I would consider it good. At least he was warm and dry and with the new nursing angel, Miss Nightingale. That was a blessing. " And Ben and Jack? "

" Ben is back on duty. He is well."

" Tell me of Jack, please." I leaned forward expectantly.

" Sergeant White is missing, Miss White. He rode out to check on some of the men who had been in the trenches and he did not return. It is suspected that his horse may have taken a tumble. I am sorry. His body has not been found."

I stared at him, unable to process the words clearly. " Missing? Not dead."

" Miss White, it has been over three days "

I stood, going to the window. " He can't be dead. I would know it. He's my twin. We were quite close."

" I know nothing of the bonds of twins. I only know that with the severity of the storm and the distance he was from camp, it is not likely he survived. I am most sorry for your loss."

I just shook my head. He does not know Jack. He does not. I clutched the rough fabric of the draperies in my hand. I watched the building where I had seen Lt. Samuelle so many times. Would he come today? Maybe if I told him of Jack he would know Oh, God, I just longed for him to hold me as he had done on the ridge that morning. If he could hold me in his arms the world would not seem so desolate a place.

" Miss White, Lady Cardigan has expressed some concern for you. There has been talk "

" Talk? "

" Yes. About you and the French "

" Lt. Samuelle. You can assure her that he was more than a gentleman and that he did save my life. "

" I'm sure it is true that there has been nothing of a scandalous nature. I know you, Miss White."

I gave him a rather bitter smile.

He flushed. His face was flushed, white lines appeared around his lips. " If you would hear me out, Lady Cardigan wishes you to accompany her back to England. She is leaving before Christmas. She has personally requested that you come with her."

" Tell her that I am staying here. I am sorry about her portrait not being completed. If she would like me to reimburse her for the materials I'd be most happy to do so."

" You could return in the here in the spring if that be your wish. Your mother might need you."

" I have no wish to leave."

" Miss White." He stepped forward and took my hand in his. His hand was fine-boned, warm and a little moist, very unlike Michel's solid, steady one. He was shaking a little, too. I tried to pull my hand back, but he covered it with his other one. I felt oddly trapped. " I want you to be safe. I care deeply for you. I have been wanting to tell you that."

I swallowed hard. " While I thank you for your regard, Lt. Zalman., right now I would like to be alone."

" Miss White, I believe you are making a grave mistake in aligning yourself with Lieutenant Samuelle "

I yanked my hand away. " I don't think I can make myself any clearer. I am not aligned with anyone. Not him or you. Good bye. And thank you for your concern."

He stiffened and gave me a curt bow. His face was livid with disillusionment. I think that was the first time I had ever really rejected a man's interest. Would I have done the same if Lt. Samuelle had doffed his hat and said he held me in high regard?

I turned and stared out the window. One thing was going through my head. Come back, Michel. I need to see you.

I did a lot of staring out the window, when I was not trying to stay busy. It was never a problem finding things to do. There was always something to be done and Mrs. Seacole, though many years my senior, made me feel most guilty, for she was a whirling dervish and could accomplish anything in the blink of an eye. She was always humming some catchy song that she had heard in the Caribbean or on one of her travels to see her through her work or making Lizzy and Ethel laugh with her jokes. I loved her more than I did my own mother.

Most of my nights were spent awake in my narrow cot thinking about Jack or Uncle Walter. I thought about Michel, too, though I tried not to. I would bury my face in my pillow and think about his kiss. Or I would think about him being beside me in the narrow bed holding me tightly. Not Christian sorts of thoughts at all.

Was there any way to break this spell he had me under?

I tried to read when I could not sleep. I had a few books with me that I had loved in my girlhood, but reading the same books over and over again held no joy. I had loved Pride and Prejudice and had thought it so very romantic. I used to thrill to the descriptions of Mr. Darcy, imagining at the end when he unburdened his heart to Lizzie, that they would share a lovely, sweet kiss. It actually would make me giddy as I thought about it. Wondered what it would be like.

None of the books that made the rounds in the hotel interested me. The books they were writing now propounded Christian virtue. While the male novelists were raging about society and industry, the females were writing about fine ladies who poured tea and quoted scripture. I could imagine no one falling into a passionate embrace at the conclusion of those books. I wished fervently that I had brought my secret copy of Wuthering Heights with me. My mother had banned that as scandalous.

I knew now what dark brooding heros were like.

And now I knew what a kiss was like. It was a wild melding of tastes and textures. It inflamed you. It clutched at your heart and made you want to fly about the room in a grand shower of sparks.

And there was more to come. After the kiss. More that I longed to know of. I was imagining being covered with kisses, being touched everywhere that one ached, touching back.

My mother would think me most shameful.

Lizzie and Ethel came most days to help with the cooking. It was rumoured that Florence Nightingale had hired a fine hotel chef who could do wonders with ordinary rations. It was the talk of the camps. We had no such thing at Mrs. Seacole's and made do with canned mutton and wilted carrots and potatoes from the cellar. It was better than nothing.

More supply ships were not expected. A few things had been salvaged after the storm, but it promised to be a bleak Christmas.

Ethel had lost her husband in the storm, but had decided to stay in the Crimea with Mrs. Seacole. She was taking his loss well, despite the fact that she would look off into nothingness every once in a while, then sigh heavily and go back to whatever she was about. One learns to accept, she would sigh. I think she that had another man in mind to replace the one she lost. She said that it would not suit her to be without a fine man to warm her bed for long.

" Ethel, have you seen Lieutenant Samuelle lately." I tried to sound as nonchalant as I possibly could. I was making tea and my hands shook a little as I lifted the pot. It was weak as the leaves had been used previously for two pots. Mrs. Seacole loved a good strong cuppa and pronounced the brew we made hot tiger piss.

Ethel gave Lizzie a broad wink. " No, I haven't seen 'im. That's why I've no broad smile on my fat face. There's been not to much going on across the street lately with winter and all. Used to be officers goin' in and out all day. Lord, how I miss seein' that walk o' his. Have you ever seen a man walk like that in all of your life? It's like he is set to music. Makes a lass want to fall at his feet and offer herself up to 'im like a virgin sacrifice."

" A virgin sacrifice. Well that's a long way gone for you! Oh, aye," laughed Lizzie.

" Perhaps in the spring we'll get to see 'im some more. Have you been missing 'im then, lass? " Ethel asked.

I stiffened my back. " Not at all. I haven't missed him at all."

" Did he try something with you that night you spent together during the storm? We've all been wondering what that was like." She winked at Lizzy.

I blushed. " Certainly not. He was gentleman." I thought of that kiss and went hot. " Nothing happened. I want to talk him about Jack. I thought that maybe he could help me. No one else seems to care. That's all."

The ladies looked at each other sadly. They knew better than to say what I knew they were thinking, that my brother was dead and I would never see him again. What was the use of putting other men at risk looking for him. I understood that. I am not a simpleton.

"Lizzie tried to brighten the conversation. " Did you know that the men are plannin' a pantomime for Christmas Eve? It's going to be lovely. And I've heard the lads of the Second Brigade are going to play Christmas carols. I've heard 'em practising. It'll be a lovely Christmas. You'll see, lass." She took a sip of the tea I had made and grimaced. " Oh, laws, if only we could get a decent cuppa. I think I could almost get to like that Turkish coffee better than our tea."

I nodded. I had been dismissed neatly again. My need to talk of Jack was always quickly put aside. If I could just admit aloud that he was dead I'm sure that there would be more than enough arms to offer me sympathy. Instead I just got these looks of pity. And not for my loss but because I was such a stubborn girl. They knew that I would go straight to the Sultan of Turkey if I thought I could get some word of him.

Even Ben was not in a frame of mind to talk of our brother. " He's gone, Nik. We just don't have his bones to bury."

And so it went.

Lieutenant Samuelle came to Mrs. Seacole's the day before Christmas. He had a gift. A basket of dried and sugared fruits, so lovely that Mrs. Seacole threw her arms about his neck and began to cry. He held her tightly for the longest time. I watched from the doorway as he came into the room. I knew exactly what he would smell and feel like if I was to hold him.

I felt unaccountably shy. My body felt quite light and unsteady. I turned on my heel and went back to the kitchen so that I might catch my breath.

I busied myself with filling a kettle and putting it on to boil. In my distraction, I spilled some tea leaves on the counter and tried to clean them up. I jumped when he said my name.

" Miss White? "

My heart pounded faster at the sound of his voice.

" How are you? "

I swallowed hard. Such lovely eyes. How I had missed them. They were sad, though. If they were not flashing fire, they were always so very sad.

" I'm well, thank you, sir, " I managed. Again that feeling stuck me and I longed to go into his arms.

" I just heard of your brother. You've heard nothing? "

I shook my head. " I keep hoping, but I am beginning to lose some of that hope."

" Yes. I can understand that. But there is always hope. I'm sorry for your pain." He made a small move toward me and then seemed to think better of it. He held a small package. He turned it over and over in his elegant hands.

" I thought you would have gone home to France." I asked with false cheer. " Where in France are you from? "

" I live in Lyons. I couldn't go back because I am needed here. "

" I think I know where Lyons is, if I can recall my geography lessons. You'll miss your son. I know he'll be missing you."

" I hope he will. He's angry at me, most likely, because I did not get him a pony. I don't believe he should have one yet. No need to spoil him, though the way I feel now, I wish I had given in. I fear I do not give in often enough on some things and too often on others. And you are right about my missing him. It is like there is an empty place in my heart. "

I smiled at him. I had no words of comfort to say. " It was very kind of you to bring the fruit. It looked lovely. Too pretty to eat. I love the stuffed dates."

" Almost as much as marmalade?"

I flushed. " Are you going to come to the pantomime? "

" I have something to attend with my fellow officers." He gave me a small smile.

" Of course. I wasn't thinking."

He took a breath and then handed me the package. " This is for you. I hope you'll accept it. It's very practical so don't think I--." He broke off with a shake of his head. " Something you needed."

I looked down at it, stunned. " I've nothing for you."

" I stole your drawing. I've felt guilty about it for weeks."

I just looked at him in wonder. " I knew."

" Call that your gift to me. It's made me look at myself differently and that is a gift indeed. " He looked toward to door. " I do have to go. Merry Christmas, Nikita."

" And to you, Michel. Merry Christmas."

He stood there for a long moment just looking at me. Then he came over to me and pressed a kiss to one cheek and then to the other in the European way. With that he turned and left. I stood there staring after him wishing I had said something, wishing that I had moved my face in such a way that he could have brushed those beautiful lips across my mouth instead.

My hands were shaking a little as I opened the package. Inside was a beautiful pair of fur lined lady's gloves and an orange. A lovely big orange. I held it to my nose and breathed in the sharp perfume, thinking that I had received a great many Christmas oranges before, but none so perfect as this one.

*************

December 30, 1854,

My Dear Brother,

I know you are undoubtedly attending a raft of parties. I have been to three officer's soirees and truly enjoyed none of them. What did you expect from your morose and lonely brother?

Sometimes I think that I do not belong in the society I was born into. While I lay alone staring at the ceiling wishing that I was warm, I have been thinking seriously of America. I'd like to go there, I think. I hear you laughing. Jean. I am quite serious. I shall ride the plains until I get to California, nothing but my horse for company. Do you think Adam would like it there? He could have his pony, so he might.

I went to Mrs. Seacole's on the same day I attended the party given by Canrobert's wife. It is strange how women of the upper classes seem to think of themselves as having delicate constitutions, despite the fact that some of them can eat as much as I do. Some of the wives were quite self congratulatory about having made the huge decision to stay in the Crimea for the holiday. Not that they had a chance of getting out of here with the storm.

They are all clean, fed and warm and well taken care of by Turkish servants. I know this is not France, but from what I can see they have every indulgence and yet seem to spend a lot of time complaining that they are bored or ill or daily tormented by those same heathen Turkish servants. I know many of them spend half the day in bed. They see little problem with their husbands taking mistresses, but hate the wives of the foot soldiers because they are crass and overtly sexual.

The officer's wives make me think of Elena. You did not know her when we first met, only in those last years after we came home to France. But Elena was delicate, almost too delicate for this world. I knew that when I married her. I think her wrist was no bigger round than my thumb, so small, she looked like a child.

And I had no patience with her. I remember how we would argue and how she would cry and accuse me of having affairs. I tried to tell her that I loved her, that in the outset of our marriage I had told her terrible lies because I had been forced to, but that I had come to cherish her.

I don't think that she ever understood. I think from the first lie, it was too late. I know I should forget this, but I cannot, Jean Francois. How can I lay her to rest when the guilt of what I did to her haunts me?

The more I see of Mrs. Seacole and her hard working sort, the more I wish that I could get away from society. I know I used to take great joy in luxury. I admit that and I do admit that having nothing would be hard for me to bear at times. I don't think I know what I want. In America they say there is not the class distinction that we have in Europe.

I have the greatest admiration for all of these men who are stuck here fighting, all those truly hurt by this useless war, but especially these women who try to care for them. I found myself thinking about the way they would be celebrating Christmas with ale and laughter, music and dancing, while I sat with my glass of port and listened to the wife of general Bosquet try to warble opera for an hour. Jean, my poor head still aches.

I have told you about the girl recently, have I not? She has lost her brother, a twin, no less. I found it hard to think of something to say to her. She is not the sort to accept something she cannot see and I'm sure not having a body to prove his death and lay to rest, has been difficult. I am surprised she has not stolen a horse and made her way out to find him herself somewhere in the wilds.

I gave her a small remembrance for Christmas, some gloves because I knew she had none. I have not been around to see if they suited her. I have to force myself at times not to go there and seek out her company. As you know, I do admire her spirit. She is different, as I have told you.

I did see her once. I was escorting Captain Torquette's wife on an errand. I was going to wave to her when she ducked her head and went into a shop. I assumed she was avoiding me and did not seek her out.

And do not say that I should seek her out. She is not the sort of woman a man asks become his mistress and I have no intention of marrying again, so it is out of the question. And nor does she want to marry, if what she told me is true. She wishes for more than being tied to a man. Especially a soldier. After what she has been through, I doubt she would want a soldier.

And don't tell me not to be a soldier because it is all I am good at. I don't intend to lay about on my ass for the rest of my life.

I have a New Years soiree to attend tonight. Dear brother, I pray fervently that there will be no wives singing opera.

********

There is something about Englishmen. They are overly sentimental. I could tell myself that it is just being in the war that makes them melancholy, but I saw a lot of tear shedding by men back in England. I think it is why they wear the whiskers. They use them to catch all of the tears. There were more tears shed during the pantomime than I've shed in my life. And all over the death of Dick Turpin's horse.

I think we British are obsessed with being maudlin and melancholy. We enjoy it.

It was fun. I should not complain. I just wish that he had been here watching the pantomimes. I wanted to hear him laugh again. I found myself wondering almost every moment what he might be doing.

I shared the orange with some of the men in the ward. They sighed over its sweetness, the tart taste of the flesh. I saved one segment for myself and put the peelings with my under things, to make them smell nice. I should never have done it. Every time I open the drawer and smell oranges I think of him.

*******

Spring is at last come. The hills are no longer frozen and a sanitary commission has come from London to make some sense of all the chaos. New troops come in daily and the trenches in front of Sebastopol are no longer in the appalling condition they had been in winter. Good roads and even a railway have been constructed. There have been changes in the high commands of all sides. General Pelissier, a more aggressive soldier leads the French campaign, while General Simpson has come in to replace the dying Raglan.

One could almost say that most things are better with the warm weather and the lack of rain. Especially in terms of morale.

Jack has not been found but I have not given up. His effects have been found on none of the recovered corpses. My uncle Walter has come back to the front as his insistence. He says he has heard of the uprisings in India and may return there after we take the harbour. He says India is a far mor civilised place to fight.

The French and Russians have engaged in sorties in what the London news calls the Valley of Death. I think about Lt. Samuelle being there and I pray each night that he remains well.

My friend Seymour has sold some of my drawings to the London News. He is back at it and glad of it. We are in fairly constant communication though he has heard little of my brother's fate.

I have seen little of Lt. Samuelle except in passing. I did see him once months ago. He was with a beautiful lady, the wife, perhaps, of a French officer. I don't know for certain. Perhaps she was his own lady. I thought at the time that they didn't seem intimate enough, but later, alone, I could not help but think about it at length. She was lovely, with her dark ringleted hair, gay striped dress and her wide straw bonnet. I was jealous of her, though I tried not to be.

I had been running an errand for Mrs. Seacole, dressed in a faded brown dress and a very sad, plain bonnet with a dangling feather, when I saw them. I ducked into a little shop, not wanting them to see me, and was forced to fight off a little Turk who wanted to sell me a hashish pipe.

Lt. Zalman continues to seek my company. He complains about the rawness of the new recruits. He has no patience and bores me to tears, but he tells me that he is actively pursuing leads on Jack and so I feel as if I have to maintain contact with him. He is all that I have at the moment besides Seymour.

I was just settling down to add details to a rendering I had done for Seymour's story when Mrs. Seacole came in, most distressed. " I've had some news."

I set down my pen.

" There was some heavy musketry fire for about an hour this morning between the French and the Russians and plenty were killed. The Scots Guards joined in. Angus's da was wounded gravely. He's being taken to Scutari for surgery. I heard something from one of the lads, but I'm not certain how bad it was. Or if it is true. "

" Heard what?"

" Michel was there. They say he was wounded. I don't know how badly."

It took Seymour three days to find out that, while not gravely wounded, Lieutenant Samuelle been shot in the upper arm. He was not in danger. In fact the bullet passed through the thick outer muscle cleanly and had caused him no grave injury, nor would it affect the use of his limb. He was wearing a sling and had been taken off active duty for a month or two. After two weeks of convalescence he would be back on duty as a liaison officer. He had been promoted to captain.

I knew that there was still some chance of infection, but if well treated he would be fine. I have heard that the French surgeries have been superior in every way to those of the British since the beginning of the war. There were no such horror stories of amputated limbs being thrown to the dogs or men lying for days in their own waste on floors covered in vermin and lice, as had been the case in Scutari before Nurse Nightingale came to clean things up.

I had been awake and worrying for two nights. Every time I thought I could fall asleep I would startle awake. I kept hearing the sound of his voice or seeing his face in my mind. I had already been sleeping badly because of my anxiety for Jack. Mrs. Seacole feared I was getting ill and kept making me possets and toddies that tasted vile, but which I choked down in deference to her feelings. When Seymour came and told me the news of him, I burst into tears.

I had feared he was coming to tell me that Michel was dead.

Seymour had blinked up at me with his wide gray eyes, owly beneath spectacles that needed a good cleaning. " You don't have to cry, Nik. I told you he was well, not dead."

" Don't be stupid. I'm happy."

He gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder.

I blew my nose on a rather disreputable hanky, thinking that my mother would be horrified to see me carrying such a disgraceful thing. Nothing got clean or stayed clean in this awful place. " Is he still there? In the French hospital?"

" No. The fellow I spoke to didn't say much. His English was terrible. He has a house somewhere in the Frenchie part of Balaclava and a valet to see to his needs. Must be rich or something. He told them to give the bed to someone who really needed it."

" That sounds like him." I laughed, wiping tears away. " Did you find out where his house is? "

" No. I suppose you could find that out for yourself at the French war office."

" I don't think that would be wise. I doubt they'd even tell me that. Anyway, what would they say if some tall English girl in trousers came looking for him? "

" Probably that he's a lucky beggar. Whose reputation are you worried about? Yours or his? "

" Don't be a little bugger, Seymour. Please. I'll not ask for another thing. Just find out for me."

" Why?"

" I want to see him. I-um- have something to give him."

" Are you going there without a chaperone? Want me to go with you? " he teased.

" No, I do not want you to go with me. I have been alone with the man before. You are a strange little fellow Seymour." I gave him a hug.

He frowned. " Only if you'll help me with something." He leaned closer to me. " I have been approached by a man who says that he can grant me an interview with a couple of Russian spies. I can learn a whole lot of stuff the Brits or the French don't even know about the fortifications in Sebastopol. This is big, Nikita. This is my lucky break."

" Russian spies? Are you certain. What sort of spies are going to come out of hiding to talk to you? "

" The man who has put me on to them-- a Turk--has relatives there. He's reliable. I wasn't sure when he approached me, but now I'm convinced he's a right sort of bloke. I'll meet them at a mutually agreeable location and they'll tell me some things that I can write about send back to Britain. I can scoop that wily old fox Russell and for once I'll be the one getting all the by-lines."

" What do you need me for? I don't think they'll think much of you if you come along and meet them with a female guard. You want me to protect you? "

He gave me a dirty look. " I need an interpreter. Someone fluent in Russian."

" Well, I guess that makes sense."

" What do you say? This is dangerous, but I know you're not an ordinary sort of girl and if you put on a hat and blacken your face a bit they might take you for a fellow. If they're blind and stupid, that is."

"I like danger, Seymour, but "

"I'll tell you something about this Frenchman you're in love with. Did you know I heard a rumour about him the other day? Won't tell you my source but it's good."

" I'm not in love with him!' my denial was far too vehement. " What rumour?" If he told me about any women I'd scream.

" He was a spy for the Frenchies around ten years ago in Russia. Lived there for years, so they say. That's not all I know."

I just shrugged. " It's possible. What else? "

" Are you going to come with me? "

" Maybe."

" Someone murdered his wife in retaliation for what he did. That's the rumour. Or someone tried to kill him and killed her instead. Something along that line. That's all I know, but I could find out more."

" My, God." I was horrified by that news. I hoped it was only gossip. The poor man. " I don't want you going around gathering intelligence on him, Seymour. If he finds out he's going to think me even more of a lunatic than he does now. "

" Will you do it? "

" Get me the address by tonight and I'll do it. Actually, I think it might help me to find out about any Russian prison camps where they could be holding Jack. And if you tell anyone of this gossip you've heard about Captain Samuelle's wife I'll pummel you into the ground. And don't think that I'm too much a lady to do that. "

" I'd never accuse you of being a lady, Nikita. I'll be back with the address."

" Don't tell anyone."

" If you don't tell on me."

" Done. You have yourself an interpreter Harry Seymour." I put out my hand. He shook it.

He smiled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. " You are in love with him, aren't you? "

I smiled. " I don't know."

" Old skinny britches Zalman isn't going to like this much. He's still sniffing around here, isn't he?"

" I've not offered him any encouragement. I'd sooner you didn't spread this around, Seymour. I'm not sure Captain Samuelle even likes me."

" Course he does. Are you blind? And, you know, if it ever came down to it, I think your Frenchman could take Zalman down a peg or two."

********

" Sir," Marcel's eyebrow was raised below his short cropped receding hairline. He had that look on his face. You know the one I mean, Jean. He's in a high snit. Disapproves of something.

" Yes, Marcel. What is it? " My arm was aching and stiff but if I took it out of the sling for short periods I could write until my arm would protest. My God, how I hate to be tied down and kept from doing my normal routines. I am not the sort of man that can be caged in a drawing room. I waited for him to speak.

" That's not good for the arm, sir."

" If I don't do this it will stiffen up on me. What is it?"

" Someone here to see you, sir."

" Who? "

" A young lady, sir."

" I told you that I could take no more officer's wives coming up here with hot soup, Marcel. Turn her away. Politely, of course."

" Sir, you don't have to tell me to be polite." He raised his thin nose in the air. " I don't know this lady. She is dressed rather shabbily and she came without a carriage or a servant."

Obviously, he did not approve. " Does this person have a name or a card? "

His tone was one of high reservation. " She does not have a calling card. She's certainly not the type to carry cards. She is English."

He said it like it was the plague. Marcel's father was English. English was his first tongue. Do you remember his Cockney accent when he was a boy, when his father came to redo the gardens in the English style for Mama? I used to tease him unmercifully about his vowels. Maybe that's why he makes my life hell now.

" What is her name? "

" I've quite forgotten. Shall I tell her to go? " I knew he was lying.

" What does she look like? "

" Very tall, sir. Too tall. Blonde. Blue eyes "

I spilled the bottle of ink all over the desk, hence the blotches on this missive. I swore, earning more of Marcel's censure.

" I shall clean this up for you, sir and fetch a change of robe."

" No. Leave it."

" Sir, this desk is an antique."

" I don't give a fuck what it is. Did you leave her in the hallway? "

If Marcel was nonplussed by the swearing his face did not show it. " I left her outside on the stoop, sir. As I said, she is not of quality "

" Damn you, Marcel. See her in."

" She has no maid with her, sir and it would not be seemly "

I could barely speak though my gritted teeth. " I will kill you if you do not see her in to me now. If you stand there wasting time any longer and she leaves I will send you running down the streets after her. And when you return I shall kill you, flog you and then hang you. Then I will dismiss you. "

He smiled pleasantly. " Of course, sir. I assume you know her then? "

" Yes, damn you. I know her.' I ran my good hand through my hair. " And Marcel. Treat her with the deference and high-toadying you would treat any female guest to my home, be she French or English. Dressed in Parisian fashion or a pair of trousers."

" Yes, sir."

" And Marcel. After you have seen her safely up I would expect you to disappear for a while. For the rest of the day."

" Sir, I "

" Marcel. Do it."

I was shaking. I could not believe it. I rarely have a case of nerves. I told myself that the heat in my face was the vestiges of the fever I had suffered the last few days. I was thinking a million things.

I knew I'd already made a decision about what I wanted to do in asking Marcel to make himself scarce for the rest of the day. I wanted her. To sleep with her. Wrong or not. I had wanted that since the day I first saw her. I had not asked her approval in the matter. I know it was presumptuous of me. In letting her come up here, in not turning her away, she was as good as in my bed, without ever saying she wanted to be there.

That was how it worked. She knew that, didn't she? She had destroyed what ever reputation she could claim.

I had been longing for her, longing to see her. The night before I had dreamed she came to me. Dreams that were so erotic I cannot describe them. The type of dreams a fourteen year old has. And here she was. She had come to me.

Such a strange girl, I thought. Strange and wonderful girl.

" My, God," I said to myself. How did I handle her? Polite and distant. As if I were very cool. As if I did not care. As if this meant not a whit to me. I am good at that. I am not good at heartfelt pleas and flowery words. If it happens between us I cannot say that I will promise her God, if she stays, I will make her my mistress. I will lavish her with things she'd never dreamed.

She will not want things.

Will she want me to say that I love her? Will she say it to me?

She will expect too much. She will expect more than I can give. I want to give her the moon and the stars, but I cannot.

She wants everything. I have nothing left but this terrible longing. This lust. This loneliness.

I need her.

I would deal with the consequences later.

******

He was straightening his shirt collar when I came in. He looked so beautiful. I just wanted to stand there and drink him in. I longed for my pencils so that I could draw him just as he was. Tall. A little gaunt, but whole and well.

I had never seen a man in a dressing gown. I knew men wore such robes over their fine clothes, but I had never seen a man dressed that way before. I might have thought it prissy and foppish to wear wine coloured silk, but on him it was perfect. It certainly covered him well enough, but the silk was ever so intimate, made his shoulders seem even wider, his chest more muscular and broad. The tie at his waist showed how trim and taut his body was. The colour even brought out the rich highlights of his hair. As if he were not perfect enough already.

I stared at him, thinking how different we are. I had never been poor, but this, this was far beyond my realm. He had so much. A valet. This fine place to live while he was here. Rich red carpets and a brocade settee. A wing chair by the cheery fire. A fine desk for writing over which he'd seemed to have spilled ink very recently.

" Marcel. Go."

The man bowed and looked at me. Oh, my. He didn't approve of me at all. Likely he thought I was stupid. Shabby and stupid. A hussy. A strumpet.

Michel's collar was open. I could see the vee of his neck, the curve of his throat, the smooth skin of his chest. I was used to seeing hairy men about the camp. He was more refined, yet he was as hard and muscular, a soldier as any of them. His throat had no bobbing Adam's apple like Zalman's. It was a smooth, muscular column, like one would see on a classical statue. I shivered thinking about what the rest of him would look like. Thinking things that no lady in her right mind thinks.

But then when have I ever been in my right mind.

God, please let him want me to be here.

" Hello, " I said. " I'm glad you are well. Are you well? "

" Yes. I'm fine now."

" Won't you sit down."

I didn't sit. " I don't know that I should have come "

" It's a little late for that."

" We were all very worried about you." I didn't know what to say all of a sudden. The words sounded so trite and silly in my ears, sticking in my throat like clots of oatmeal. " Mrs. Seacole has missed you these six months."

" Has it been so long since I've seen you? " I know exactly how long it was. I had thought of her every day. " Six months? "

" I think so."

" I've been busy since Christmas. I took a promotion. I had to return to France for a time."

" You saw your little boy." I grinned at him because his face lit up when I mentioned his son.

" Yes. He was well. He'd had the chicken pox, but he's better."

" He must have hated your leaving again. I know that I should have " I flushed.

" How did you find my lodgings? "

I told him about Seymour. How the lad could find anything if he wanted to. " You didn't want me to find you, did you? It just struck me that you may have been avoiding me."

" Not for the reasons you would think."

I looked over at the fire. " I've never met anyone who has a valet before. Except Lord Cardigan."

" Marcel looks after me. Too well. He considers himself my social secretary in addition to his other duties."

" That's why you always look so clean. It took me two hours just to bathe this morning. Hauling water and all. And then I couldn't get all of the soap out of my hair." Oh, my God. Did I actually tell him that? My mother would faint. One did not mention anything of a personal nature to a gentlemen. Doubtless he was picturing me in my bath and

Did he look flushed? Not so bad a thought.

" You look fine." His eyes passed down my body and then back up, slowly like he was taking inspection. When they returned to meet my gaze, I imagined they were pleased. The idea that he liked what he saw, that he was thinking about what I looked like under my clothes, warmed me from my head to my toes.

I played with the strings of my shabby reticule. The stays I was wearing pushed against my ribs. How I hated the damned things. " I don't think your valet approves of me."

" He has no say in anything I do other than the clothes I wear and the food I eat and-- " He laughed. " Please, Kita, sit down. Otherwise I shall be forced to stand. I am still a little weary."

" Oh, of course. I have no manners." I plopped down on a footstool before the fire. My stiffened petticoat came whooshing up. I patted it down. He sat in the wing chair, careful of his weakened arm.

" I'm glad you weren't hurt as badly as I had feared you were," I said.

" You feared for me, did you? "

I looked up at him. He was so very handsome. I wanted to smooth back the lock of hair that had fallen over his ear. He was frowning, worried about something. His eyes seemed to search mine, penetrating into my soul, discerning the truth of why I had come here. Why I could not stand to be apart from him any longer.

I knew then that I loved him. That I would never love anyone else.

If he wished only to lose himself in me, I would accept that. I did not need words. Or promises. I wanted to know. I had come too close to losing what I had wanted. Him.

I let go of my skirts, only to have them rise up again. I mashed them down. He gave a small husky chuckle.

" I'm sorry. You're not accustomed to British hooligan lasses who are not used to wearing petticoats coming upon you like this."

He closed his eyes, slowly. Thinking, I suppose, that I was a far cry from any of the ladies of his acquaintance. From his Elena, the one whose name he had whispered in his sleep.

" Do you want me to leave? I shouldn't have come here. No one will approve of it. Even your servant thinks it's wrong and I know you are tired "

" Do not apologise. Do not go. Do not say disparaging things about yourself. I truly think none of those things. And I wish for no one's approval. I care only about yours."

" Captain Samuelle "

" Michel. Say my name." He leaned towards me and with his good hand picked up a tendril of hair that has fallen to my shoulder. He studied it for a while, testing the texture between his long, elegant fingers. I looked at his half closed, heavily lashed eyes, the way his lips parted ever so slightly. He raised the lock of hair to his mouth and brushed it against his lips.

" Beautiful," he said. " You are too beautiful."

I could barely breathe. I could not think. I just stared at that mouth, coming closer to mine.

" I am going to kiss you, Kita. Tell me now if you object."

" I have no objections. It's what I came here for."

He slanted his mouth across mine, teasing my lips with soft, slow, tantalizing kisses, each one just a foray into unknown territory, a promise, a taste of what would come.

I thought at the time, as my heart raced and my thoughts flew about in my mind like fluttering birds, that if I was going to die here in his arms, that I would burn slowly like a martyr on a pyre-- and that was what some would say I had done without the benefit of a promise of forever or love or a gold ring around my finger -- and I would enjoy every second of this delicious sin. It was akin to being licked by fire. Slow burning, just a flicker or a spark that would ignite all too soon and swallow me, swallow us both in its intensity.

I found a lot out about this man I love that day. I found with each moment I loved him more.

Michel takes his time. He thinks carefully. He is thorough. He is patient. He gives something and then he takes. But he is also a firebrand in his passion. A lamb and a lion. He confuses me and delights me in the same moment. He is a scrumptious, intoxicating mixture of everything that I want, both wanton and wild, safe and soothing.

I think that when he was a child he at first willed himself to suck and savour his treats and then, later, having tested his will to satisfaction, plunged in to gobble. He made me feel as I were the best, most glorious treat he'd ever had and in return, he left me wanting nothing.

Perhaps his initial patience was in deference to my inexperience. Part of me, that willful, bratty, headstrong girl, wanted to hurry him along. I wanted to find out all there was to know. Now. To stand on that precipice and just leap with my arms spread wide. I do not normally like to be shown. I want to find out for myself. I always want to lead like that awful child in dancing class.

He didn't stand for that. " Let me be your teacher," he said, taking my chin in his hand, his voice husky. " Later you can show me what you've learned." His eyes were wicked with promise.

I near swooned from that look.

I remember when he first began to kiss me there in that comfortable parlour in the middle of that sunny afternoon. I had feared that he would stop, that he would find something wanting, discover that he had made another mistake. I remember how he stilled my restless, shaking hands, covering them with his as he kissed me, more to reassure than to control. They remained there, threaded to mine, pressed against my quivering thighs.

I recall that, once, in a daze, I opened my eyes and studied him while he kissed me. He was looking at me, too, enjoying my reaction, his eyes slumberous, slitted, darkened by his desire to fathomless pools. My heart leapt at what I saw there, something both painful and exciting curling in my breasts, pooling like honey in my abdomen.

I had caused him to look that way. I did not know exactly what it meant but it made me feel powerful and free. His lips were causing strange sensations, drawing me into his heat, his fire. When he deepened the kiss with his tongue, his mouth open and hot on mine, I gasped, pressing our linked hands down at the notch of my thighs where I ached and throbbed for something I did not know.

He moaned then, leaning forward, letting go of my hands, holding me tightly on either side of my waist. He moved from the edge of the chair to his knees, so that his face was angled up into mine, as if he was in some way giving himself to me.

His mouth, his tongue, felt velvety soft, a sharp contrast to the hard length of his body pressed against my angled thigh. He smelled of fine-milled soap, his clothes scented exotically of sandalwood. I could taste Turkish coffee and toothpowder, and something familiar, a dark delicious essence, as heady and as addictive as chocolate. Only he lays claim to that taste.

He pulled his lips away from mine, trailing kisses everywhere, along the line of my eyebrow, over my cheek to my ear. He came back to my mouth, slowly brushing his lips against mine. He said, " You can't know how I have dreamed of this, ma vie. Do you feel the same? "

I threaded my fingers through the silk of his hair. " I feel more than I have ever felt."

He slid his hands slowly up my sides, cupping my breasts through layers of wool and cotton. The sensation made me jerk in response. I pressed my legs together to still the reaction there. " I don't know what to do. I do need you to teach me. I don't want to disappoint you."

"You'll not do that. But I shall like being your teacher."

He rose to his feet and reached for my hand. " Come. I'll not let myself take you here, my love."

I took his hand, shyly, my legs so weak they could scarce hold my weight. " You'll not need to take. I give myself to you freely and without regret."

He looked at our joined hands, his eyes closing slowly. I saw his throat convulse against to smooth skin of his neck. He pressed a kiss to the chapped backs of my fingers. When he looked at me his green eyes glittered. " I shall try not to hurt you. Come. I can't wait much longer."

I remember how he helped me remove my clothes I told him I could do it myself, that his arm was too weak. He said he wanted to undress me. He said he wanted to do it slowly so his eyes could make love to me as well. It was a strange and beautiful thing to say. He looked at me for a long time, my taut aching breasts, my waist, my boyish hips and my long legs. When he finally raised his eyes and smiled at me, almost in awe, I thought I might cry from the acceptance, the longing, the need I read within their green depths.

I remember how he sat at the edge of the bed and pulled me toward him, taking my breast in his mouth, the feel of his tongue and lips making me cry out with yearning. I pressed my hands into the silk that covered his wide shoulders, my fingers playing in the silken curls that spilled over his collar. He held my hips, lowered his head and pressed his lips to the pulse that made my stomach muscles quiver. He softly murmured some phrases in French while kissing the line of my sternum, back to my breasts. The words seemed far more erotic than any English ones he might have said.

I helped him removed his robe and his shirt and trousers. He stood before me, proudly naked and beautiful, so masculine it nearly brought tears to my eyes. How could such perfection exist? How had I been so lucky to have him want me?

What I remember most now is how he looked there in his bed, a bed so sumptuous and soft, I could not imagine such bliss anywhere, especially not where a war raged miles away. He pulled me down atop his body, brushing back the curtain of my hair, bringing my face down slowly to meet his, as our lips and our bodies joined as one.

I remember afterwards, watching as he slept, worn out from his wound and exertion, his hair on the linen pillow case in loose, thick red-fire tinged waves. He seemed gilded by the sun that streamed through the high mullioned window. The prisms lit his eyes like jewels in their dense thicket of lashes. The bandage was a stark white slash against the muscular thickness of his arm. I looked at the sabre cut on his shoulder, still glaring red, an inch from where his heart lay beating. How close it had come to my never having known him.

I remember his smile, how his lips looked, swollen by long, heated kisses, stretching in a cat's contented grin over white, even teeth. He reached for me again in sated, sleepy contentment, wrapping me in the luxury of his embrace. He fell asleep with my head tucked under his chin.

I remember pressing my lips to the scar above his heart, smelling myself on his skin. Our scents mingling like some exotic perfume. This is all I want, I whispered. This all I will ever want. This gift, this knowledge, this joy.

I love you, my Michel.

Yet I could not let the words past my lips.

********

She is heartbreakingly lovely , Jean Francois, but I have told you that before. I could not believe that she had come here to me. I'm quite sure it was out of concern for my health and not to be seduced. I cannot find it in myself to be sorry for that. She gave herself sweetly and without reservation. She made me feel things that I have never felt with another. If she finds that she is with child, I will, of course, do right by her.

There was much that I meant to say to her, to tell her. As usual the thoughts came to my head and would not make it to my lips. I'm such a coward. She was sitting cross legged on end of my bed in my robe ( it has never looked as good on me) waiting for me to wake up. I was still a little weak and I feared I may not have pleased her as well as I could have because of it. Actually I'd been afraid to open my eyes, afraid that I might have dreamed the whole thing. I've had so many dreams of her, erotic dreams that had placed her right here in my bed, in my arms.

She smiled and sighed. " I wish I had my sketch book. I have always wanted to draw a naked man."

If I had not been in the bed, I should have fallen from it. I said it was a good thing she didn't have her pencils. She said: " I have a good memory. When I get home I shall immortalize you." I have a feeling a naked picture of me will be hanging in a gallery some day. And don't say, " Ah, now the whole world will get to see your shortcomings." I have never had complaints.

I fed her. Wine and cheese, bread and butter. She looked at the butter, licking some off her finger and smiled so happily. " Butter. You actually have butter?" she said. I felt guilty because I have so much at the moment and she so little.

" You can stay here with me, you know. I can give you everything you need."

Her cheeks flushed and she became rather quiet for a moment. She looked so lovely with her blue eyes and her long slender legs half revealed by my robe. And then she said. " I can't be your mistress, Michel."

" You're almost that now. There's no going back now, is there? "

" You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"

" I'd hope it was one of the things you like about me."

" Besides your pretty face. And your money."

It was a strange thing to say. True. But I was oddly insulted by it. I coaxed her, albeit against her initial protest that she must leave, to make love again. It was different than the first time. I wanted to prove something to her. I wanted to show her how utterly unselfish and giving I can be. While I enjoyed it immensely, afterwards I wanted to ask her if there were other deeper reasons why she would decline my offer. I wanted to ask her if she had only been teasing me about being pretty and rich. I didn't like being thought of in that way.

Later, when I awoke again it was very late. Marcel was standing over my bed frowning at me.

" Where is she? " I snarled.

" Is she under the bed?" he quipped.

I glared at him.

" It appears she's gone, sir."

I threw back the covers. Marcel was frowning at me. " You've opened your wound a bit I see. There's blood on the bandage."

" I don't care. You actually let her go at this time of night? " I was debating on whether I should put on my clothes and go after her. " What time was that? "

" It was still light. About three hours ago. I was sitting on the stoop with as much dignity as I could muster. She apologised profusely to me for getting me kicked out of my own house. She assured me that she would be quite safe on the way home."

" Damn." I couldn't believe that I had slept so soundly. I couldn't believe that she had gone without a parting word.

But then how many boudoirs had I snuck out of when I just did not want to be hounded?

" I doubt I could have stopped her, sir. She's at least half a head taller than me. I have no doubt she would have given me a facer. If I might be so bold to make a comment?"

" Since when weren't you bold enough to make a comment? And if you tell me she is not my kind, I'll be the one to set you on your back."

" I was going to say that she filled your gray morning suit out very nicely. The cane and the hat were a nice touch as well. Was there some clothes ripping going on or do you think that she did it for safety? Maybe she knew that no one would think twice about a gentleman's leaving here. Smart girl, she is, sir. "

" Clothes ripping? Jesus, Marcel. She was wearing my civilian clothes? "

" All but the shoes, sir. She said they were far too big. I did point out to her that the tie was not right. She let me fix it for her. She said to convey her apologies. She did not want to wake you to ask if she could borrow your fine things. She'll return it all shortly."

I just stared at him.

" I should like to make one more comment , if you don't mind? "

" If I say no, you'll tell me anyway."

" I was going to say that it's about time you found someone. She is a little different but I quite approve of her. Now, maybe you'll not be so cranky." He began to pick up strewn about articles of clothing setting them on the chair. " And now, sir, if you don't mind, I shall change your bandage and then retire to sleep. I have been wondering the markets and holding up the wall in the most disgusting drinking establishment all afternoon."

*******

" Seymour!"

He was staring at his pocket watch and frowning. " Where the hell have you been, Nikita? "

" I'm sorry that I'm late."

" We have to meet the Russians on the other side of town. What have you been doing? Even Mrs. Seacole didn't know where you were. That skinny Zalman was looking for you."

I let out a sigh. " I was busy. That's all I'll say."

" I got the right address then." He gave me a knowing grin.

" Yes. You did. You didn't tell Zalman anything, did you? " I adjusted the silk tie. The clothes smelled like sandalwood and the insides of my thighs were aching.

" Of course not. I never tell anyone anything. What kind of reporter do you think I am? Come on then. We're already late. Whose clothes are those anyway? Never mind. You look quite the dandy. The captain must be rolling in money."

**********

Oh, Baba, I whispered to myself. How did I get into this horrible mess?

I wiped a tear from my eye and gasped because it hurt so. It felt like a real mouse, half swollen shut and what I could see from it had a red haze.

" Why did you start lashing out at them? Punching. God, Nikita. I think you kicked one of them in the -- Well, at any rate it just made him madder. Even I could see they would punch back."

" I had to. You weren't doing anything."

Seymour shuddered. " They had guns."

" Oh, la. I forgot," I snapped at him. " I can't believe this has happened. " Where do you suppose they've bloody taken us? Is this a dungeon or something. It's damp enough."

" I don't know where we are."

" I only came here because I might find out something about Jack. Now we've been accused of being bloody spies by the Turks. And you know that the Turks will just assume we're guilty and hang us. Without a bloody trial. My uncle says they're heathens. " I was praying that Michel would go around to Mrs. Seacole's to find me so that he'd know I was missing. And then I remembered the way I had just left him in bed without a goodbye and stolen his clothes. I was a little angry that he thought I'd actually just leap at the chance of being his mistress.

" I didn't think this would happen."

" I don't think you ever bloody think, Seymour. Thank God for these clothes. They think I'm a man. Otherwise I'd be in some Turkish harem right now."

" Do the Turks have those? " His eyes lit up behind his spectacles. " Harems? You mean with half clad women and those huge bald men and all that? "

" God! I don't know. Did you tell anyone where we were going? "

" Of course not."

I laid my head back against the dripping, dank wall and sighed. " We're dead, you know. And I just discovered something I really like to do for once besides drawing pictures and being a veritable pain in the backside to my poor parents." I thought about Michel. I thought about being back there in that divine bed with him and his divine mouth and body and hands. I was an idiot. I might even let him boss me around once in a while if he'd just come and get me.

" What is it you like to do? "

I like sex. Well, I like with one person. God, I really liked it.

" Just shut up, Seymour. I'm trying to think."

********

I went looking for her later that day to Marcel's chagrin. I had to speak with her and I was pacing a hole in the carpet thinking about what I was going to say. I was going to beg her to stay with me. I was going to offer her anything she dreamed of. I was planning to lay my heart at her rather large, very lovely feet. My arm was hurting fiercely so I appeased Marcel and went in a carriage.

A very worried Mrs. Seacole told me that she had not seen Nikita and gave me a look that said: I assumed she was with you. What are you doing here?

I was livid at first and then terrified. I could not imagine where she could have gone. " Do you think she went to be with her brother, Ben? "

" I don't think so. I can't think why she wouldn't tell me," Mrs. Seacole said. " I think that you should be at home, Captain Samuelle. That Zalman fellow was here today. He wondered where Nikita was. She hasn't given him the time of day in months. Why would he turn up here looking for her today of all days? "

That didn't thrill me. Lord , she couldn't be with him. Could she?

Had she been grabbed somewhere on her way home last night? I asked Mrs. Seacole if I might look at her room. She allowed me to do so. There was little of note except for the bundle of dreary clothes on the bed. I remembered how she had blushed over the patches and mended places in her petticoat. If she would but stay with me I'd buy her a million silken ones.

Everything had been tossed in a pile. One of her drawers was open. Nothing seemed to be gone. Her pencils and sketchbooks and a pile of letters from her grandmother were stacked neatly away. There was a plain bone brush with some blonde hair in it. I was struck again with how little of luxury she had here in this place.

" I shall come back tomorrow," I said.

I went back the next morning after a sleepless night quite ready to shake some sense into her for worrying everyone. Then I'd take her in my arms and kiss her wide, lovely mouth until she begged me to stop.

Ben White was at Mrs. Seacole's. He gave me a dirty look when I came in. " What have you done to my sister? "

I didn't know quite what to say to that. Ben looked ready to tear my head off and I was not about to be cowardly and deny that I had taken liberties. " I'm looking for her, too."

Ben frowned. "Did you two argue? What happened? "

" We didn't exactly argue. She ran off wearing my best suit."

" I won't even ask. William Russell, the war correspondent told me today that the young reporter called Seymour is missing, too. Hasn't seen him in a couple of days. Do you think they're together? My sister's been talking about searching for Jack. I can't believe she'd actually go off and do it."

" I believe that your sister would go off and do anything she damned well pleased. I'm going to see if I can find out anything at young Seymour's residence. I drove him home once. I know where he lives."

******

Seymour had finally gone to sleep with his head cradled on my lap. I was still awake, not even able to close my eyes, though my body ached with exhaustion.

I was thinking about stupid things: Would he cry? Would he pick up my poor broken body from the gibbet (or maybe a few pieces of it, if they drew and quartered me). Would he say something like: What we had was so beautiful, my darling( or mon coeur, or whatever the hell he was saying in French to me that made me feel all wild and wanton). We just were never meant to be.