I first came into the gardens. I must make you to smile. My French, pardon me, is not the best. Always I find it agony to learn the languages. Even the proper Russian is hard for me to speak at times."
"Your French is more than adequate."
"In the court we speak nothing else. Always the French, never the Russian. The Empress admires everything French-the French manners, the French clothes, the French art and literature. She and this fellow Voltaire are always writing the letters. He is her mentor, she claims."
"Voltaire? I hear that he is extremely radical."
"Is true. He fills her head with the political nonsense, the hot ideas. She is a foolish woman in many ways, Catherine."
"Do-do you know her well?"
"I did once," he said.
There was a tenseness in his voice, the purr replaced by a growl, and I sensed that for some reason he was extremely touchy about the Empress of All the Russias. His eyes were sullen. His wide mouth turned down at both corners.
For all his great size he looked like a surly little boy who longed to smash something with his fists. Count Orlov was hardly one to hide his feelings, I thought. A long moment passed while he brooded, and then he shook his head and sighed heavily and smiled.
"You must forgive me. I forget myself. I forget my task."
"Your task?" ...
"To make you smile. To make you forget sad thoughts."
"You mustn't bother about me, Count Orlov."
"Oh, but I have the responsibility, remember? I take this very seriously. Will you smile for me?"
It was such a boyish plea that I smiled in spite of myself.
Orlov smiled, too, vastly relieved.
"This is much better. You are even more beautiful when this smile is on your lips. Your beauty makes the knees grow weak."
"What nonsense you speak."
"I speak only the truth. Never have I seen a woman as beautiful as you, and in my lifetime I know many women.
It is a tragedy when my niece tells me you are already taken. This is correct?"
"I'm afraid it is."
"This man in London, he appreciates you?"
"I think so. I'm not sure I've ever fully appreciated him."
"You will marry him?" he asked.
"I fervently hope to."
"Then, alas, I must not try to seduce you. I must restrain myself and be just the good friend. I give offense once more?"
"Few women are offended to know a man would like to seduce them, Count Orlov. It is a compliment."
"I would like very much, but I have the code of honor.
Only if the woman is willing do I use the seduction, the tender words, the touches that are soft and make them melt. I tell myself, though, that under other circumstances you would perhaps not be unwilling."
I smiled again, a wry, amused smile. All this was mere badinage, I realized, smooth words that meant nothing. A born sensualist, Orlov had probably started practicing his wiles on his plump old nurse as she fed him in her lap, and I felt sure that he used an identical approach with any woman under fifty. For a man like him, women were captivating creatures meant for bedding, and no doubt he bedded them by the score. One could hardly take offense at such obvious, simpleminded ploys. Handsome as a Roman god, charged with sexual allure, he undoubtedly found them successful nine times out of ten.
"We arefriends, then?" he asked.
"Friends," I said.
. "I settle for this with broken heart."
"I'm certain you'll find someone to mend it ere long."
Orlov grinned. One could not help but like him. His sexuality was potent, true, but there was genuine warmth and boyish charm as well. The scent of poppies was overwhelming here in the darkening garden. The leaves continued to rustle in the breeze. It was turning much cooler. I shivered, and Orlov was immediately distressed.
"I am the oafl" he exclaimed. "Here I am so relieved to find you back in good health and I let you freeze and maybe catch the bad cold in that very lovely gown that leaves so much of the flesh bare."
He whipped off the heavy white velvet cloak and placed it over my shoulders with tender care, his
"Your French is more than adequate."
"In the court we speak nothing else. Always the French, never the Russian. The Empress admires everything French-the French manners, the French clothes, the French art and literature. She and this fellow Voltaire are always writing the letters. He is her mentor, she claims."
"Voltaire? I hear that he is extremely radical."
"Is true. He fills her head with the political nonsense, the hot ideas. She is a foolish woman in many ways, Catherine."
"Do-do you know her well?"
"I did once," he said.
There was a tenseness in his voice, the purr replaced by a growl, and I sensed that for some reason he was extremely touchy about the Empress of All the Russias. His eyes were sullen. His wide mouth turned down at both corners.
For all his great size he looked like a surly little boy who longed to smash something with his fists. Count Orlov was hardly one to hide his feelings, I thought. A long moment passed while he brooded, and then he shook his head and sighed heavily and smiled.
"You must forgive me. I forget myself. I forget my task."
"Your task?" ...
"To make you smile. To make you forget sad thoughts."
"You mustn't bother about me, Count Orlov."
"Oh, but I have the responsibility, remember? I take this very seriously. Will you smile for me?"
It was such a boyish plea that I smiled in spite of myself.
Orlov smiled, too, vastly relieved.
"This is much better. You are even more beautiful when this smile is on your lips. Your beauty makes the knees grow weak."
"What nonsense you speak."
"I speak only the truth. Never have I seen a woman as beautiful as you, and in my lifetime I know many women.
It is a tragedy when my niece tells me you are already taken. This is correct?"
"I'm afraid it is."
"This man in London, he appreciates you?"
"I think so. I'm not sure I've ever fully appreciated him."
"You will marry him?" he asked.
"I fervently hope to."
"Then, alas, I must not try to seduce you. I must restrain myself and be just the good friend. I give offense once more?"
"Few women are offended to know a man would like to seduce them, Count Orlov. It is a compliment."
"I would like very much, but I have the code of honor.
Only if the woman is willing do I use the seduction, the tender words, the touches that are soft and make them melt. I tell myself, though, that under other circumstances you would perhaps not be unwilling."
I smiled again, a wry, amused smile. All this was mere badinage, I realized, smooth words that meant nothing. A born sensualist, Orlov had probably started practicing his wiles on his plump old nurse as she fed him in her lap, and I felt sure that he used an identical approach with any woman under fifty. For a man like him, women were captivating creatures meant for bedding, and no doubt he bedded them by the score. One could hardly take offense at such obvious, simpleminded ploys. Handsome as a Roman god, charged with sexual allure, he undoubtedly found them successful nine times out of ten.
"We arefriends, then?" he asked.
"Friends," I said.
. "I settle for this with broken heart."
"I'm certain you'll find someone to mend it ere long."
Orlov grinned. One could not help but like him. His sexuality was potent, true, but there was genuine warmth and boyish charm as well. The scent of poppies was overwhelming here in the darkening garden. The leaves continued to rustle in the breeze. It was turning much cooler. I shivered, and Orlov was immediately distressed.
"I am the oafl" he exclaimed. "Here I am so relieved to find you back in good health and I let you freeze and maybe catch the bad cold in that very lovely gown that leaves so much of the flesh bare."
He whipped off the heavy white velvet cloak and placed it over my shoulders with tender care, his
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