Читать книгу Enemy of the Tzar: A Murderess in One Country, A Tycoon in Another - Lester S. Taube - Страница 11

CHAPTER 5

The following day, directly after lunch, Hershel packed a small case, saddled his horse, and rode to Slabodka. He went through the small, bustling town and started over the wooden bridge, traversing the narrow Neris River to Kaunas, his horse’s shoes thumping upon the heavy planks. Riding the ten versts from Gremai had been good exercise for both the horse and the expert rider on his back.

Kaunas was a strange looking city, he thought, compared to most of those in Europe. Having been initially built as a fortress, to aid in its defensive role, the Russians, upon their seizure of the city, had decreed that no house could rise higher than two stories, and set about demolishing those which did. But since the four storied city hall, known throughout the country as the White Swan, and the equally high, twin steepled Jesuit church to the left of the bridge were national landmarks, the Russians made a reluctant exception. However, to counter the fact that Kaunas contained the Vytautas-The-Great Church, erected five hundred years ago in honor of the Grand Prince, the Russians built the Sobor, a magnificent three domed Byzantine Orthodox church that dominated the new part of the city and stood as high as the Jesuit’s. It was purposely placed near to the railroad station so it would command the eye from near and afar, and thereby explain to the Roman Catholics and the Jews alike just which religion ruled here.

On the main street was a glistening, white stone and marble theater, renowned for its fine operas and ballets. A few blocks further on was an open rotunda of the same white stone and marble, decorated extensively with rococo work, held up by a score of tall, slender columns. It was an outdoor concert hall, set in a park of carefully tended flower beds and shade trees.

Across from the park was the library, again of the white stone and marble, huge, square, of a modern design, with tall, narrow windows. A series of semicircular steps led up to the entrance.

Hershel dismounted, tied his horse to a hitching rail, tipped the horsewatcher a coin to make certain the animal remained on its best behavior and did not begin kicking out at those nearby, and trotted up the twenty or so steps. Inside it was cool, but well illuminated by electric lights that the Governor had ordered installed as one of the first projects in the city. A voracious reader, the library was his favorite haunt. A guard at the doorway, colorfully uniformed with a polished saber at his side, glanced at Hershel, took in the fine clothing, then turned back to gazing off into space.

In the main reading room were a score or more of mahogany tables with matching naval captain’s chairs. At the far side were two large oak doors. A gendarme, stiffly alert, sat at a small table in front of the doors. Only those with special passes were permitted inside, for here were found the Lithuanian and Polish reference books. For more than a hundred years, no publications in those languages had been permitted outside of official storage areas. However, since Poland had spawned scores of excellent writers, a large number of their books had been kept for private use only.

Katrine was seated at the end of a line of tables, and as Hershel walked up, he was once again captivated by her beauty. He angled his approach to see her thick, red-brown hair, shimmering with life, hanging in a single braid nearly to the floor. She sat totally erect, as if a soldier on parade, and her high, full breasts rose gently as she breathed. She was unlike any woman he had met. While others avoided the harsh damaging rays of the sun, huddling under parasols at the first hint of tanning, she gloried in its warmth, and had a golden hue over every part of her body.

She must have sensed him, for she looked up and pinned him with those brilliant gray-green eyes that drew you in like a suction cup. Her wide, sensitive lips crinkled in a welcoming smile.

He sat across from her, feasting his eyes, drinking in the magnetism she radiated. She knew better than to speak, for Hershel would never forgive her for interrupting one of his ways of saying how much he loved her.

After a while, he took a deep breath and sighed. “You are the most magnificent woman on this earth,” he said softly. “Hello. I adore you.”

“Hello, my darling. I love you, too.” She smiled in that slow, eye catching manner that played on his sensations like the twang of a harp string. “Did you completely undress me with that look?”

He chuckled, his arms aching to reach across the table and haul her over to his side. “No. I stopped at your petticoat. God knows I would have an accident in my trousers if I peeked under that.”

She laughed in her smooth, sensible tone, pinpoints of a flush on her cheeks.

Countess Katrine Fedorovna Borodin knew she was a beautiful woman. Scores of men had told her so, from the time she was fifteen, ten years ago, up to only five minutes before Hershel arrived, when a distinguished gentleman, certainly in his sixties, had stopped by her table, bowed gracefully, then said in fluent French that he was honored to find such beauty in a setting that normally drew brains instead of form. Then he had bowed again and left. There were times she would have preferred to be less attractive, for hearing the same refrain a thousand or more times became a bore. Hershel had changed that. Falling in love with him made her eager to be beautiful–for him.

“Undressing me with your eyes is a poor substitute. Come, I’ll take you where you can do it properly.”

“It took you long enough to suggest that. But I cannot go yet. I have a massive erection.”

“Shall I come to that side of the table and caress it away?”

“If you do, you’ll have to place all your allure in cold storage for a while. Until I recuperate.”

She stood up, laughing, her heart singing at the sparks the two generated when together. “You are a better lover the second time. Come to think of it, you are just as good the third time.”

He grinned as he climbed to his feet. “Flatterer.” Reaching out, he took hold of her hand, and they began walking towards the exit. “That might have been true when I was a young man. But I haven’t seen you for close to three months.”

“Three months, one week, and two days,” she said, hugging his arm.

“See, I told you. You are lucky I’m still able to walk.” Outside, he halted at the top step. “Where are you staying, and how did you get here?”

“I have a flat fifteen minutes or so away. I walked. I have also been coming here each day for over a week and two days.”

He drew her closer to him. “I was held up,” he said easily, his eyes lazily scanning the street in both directions. “My horse is tied down there. Do you have a stable near the flat?”

She had grown tense ever so slightly when he mentioned being held up, then she forced herself to relax. “The building has a stable in the rear.”

He untied the animal, and, side by side, walking together in the street, she led him a few blocks away to a wide apartment complex set in a highly fashionable section. An alley led to the stable at the back. Under Hershel’s eye, a stableman took the reins, unsaddled the horse, placed him in a stall, and pitched in a fork of hay from a bin at the far end.

Katrine led him up a flowered walk to the rear entrance. A doorman in a pale blue uniform was stationed there, opening the door and saluting as they passed by. Hershel followed her through a hallway covered with rich Turkish rugs, then up a curved staircase to the second floor. She inserted a key into the lock of enormous doors decorated with fine, brown leather containing a family crest.

“Whose flat is this?” questioned Hershel, evidently impressed by what he had already seen.

“A cousin of mine, Prince Teodor.” She laughed as she pushed open the door. “A Pole, of all things. An aunt, my mother’s sister, married his father. Absolutely filthy rich. All kinds of estates south of Warsaw.”

Katrine drew him into a wonderland. The entry chamber was huge, with a tan marble floor, and heraldic crests of the family on triangular shields decorating the walls. An archway led into a massive parlor, with fireplaces at opposite sides, and three pools of sofas, chaise lounges, and chairs, all covered with silk tapestry in which were embroidered horses’ heads with the family crest in each corner.

The walls held–Hershel counted them carefully–two paintings of naked, heavy-flanked women, who identified them as works of Rubens, a battle scene with the French tricolor leading the victorious forces, whose clarity and neoclassicism stamped it as a David, two light and colorful Monets, forever restful to look at, and a somber Delacroix, with his penchant for defying oppression.

Sliding doors led into a dining room holding a long, ebony table, polished to a mirror finish, with a score of chairs of the same wood, their backs and cushioned seats of red, Moroccan leather. A crown shaped chandelier held two dozen delicately arched gaslights, converted to electric.

Hershel stopped at the bedroom and smiled. It met his expectations. It was monster sized, with an enormous canopied bed and goose down pillows covered in rose colored silk. On everything, as expected, was the family crest.

“This cousin of yours,” remarked Hershel, still overawed. “Does he think he’s Alexander the Great?”

“Alexander was a homosexual,” said Katrine, eyeing him with amusement. “Teddy could never be accused of that. He has probably bedded more innocent virgins, happily married matrons, and love-starved widows than there are feathers in those pillows. He once said that having only one hundred new conquests per year would be sexual abstinence.” She slipped her arms around Hershel’s waist and drew him to her. “How’s your erection?”

“Being in the same room that Cousin Teddy occupied makes me ready to poke even the cook.”

“I’m the cook here now.”

“Where’s Cousin Teddy? All I would need is for him to come charging in while we were trying out his bed. His peals of laughter might make me give up sex forever.”

Her usual soft, sensible laughter, full of the beauty and mystery and magnetism that had captured his heart, came out as he expected it would, for he knew that she knew he had enough fire inside to satisfy any woman. She kissed his lips, and his arms engulfed her, pulling her close with a hunger that he was unable to hide since the moment he had set eyes on her. Their tongues explored each other feverishly as his hands pressed her hips tightly to his own, and she rubbed her body undulatingly, sensually against him, rising on her toes so she could feel his raging penis pressing harshly at her loins.

Feverishly, they shed their clothing and slid under the silk covers, sinking into the softness of the thick mattress, locked close together with a desire that drove everything but their want of each other from their thoughts. Soon he rose up and mounted her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, driving hard against him, allowing him to withdraw almost to his glans before they crashed together again.

She sensed him starting to come a few strokes before the moan she loved so much to hear broke from his lips, then it became more intense as he felt the flood begin its race from deep in his loins. He crested with an explosive gush, his pent up breath bursting from his lips as he ejaculated time after time.

After a while, he lay quietly atop her, the need of her still boiling inside, only the emptiness of his testes keeping him from continuing. Her caresses had turned to gentle strokes, her fingers slowly massaging his back and shoulders, her body still vibrating under his, the only thought in her mind that he had been hers and soon she would be his. She marveled again at how fully he had filled her, how his savage thrusts had brought her such pleasure.

He rolled them both to their sides, and, kissing her soft, wet lips, he placed his leg between hers, his hand gently fondling a breast grown large with desire. In moments, she was driving her vagina against his leg, her body shuddering with pent up passion, the fingers of her hand wrapped around his penis. Faster and faster she masturbated against his leg, her breath coming out harshly as she climbed her mountain to orgasm. Then her movements became jagged thrusts as she flung herself against him, her eyes now tightly closed.

Suddenly, she began to moan. These were critical moments, he knew. He had lost her more than once in the past, and had learned that feeling rather than raw sex was needed now, “I love you, my darling,” he whispered.

She came at once, her entire body leaping against his, her lips kissing him here and there, short cries of animal pleasure sounding between her gasps for breath. Little by little, her movements became less demanding, then she stopped and lay lank, her face resting on his chest, her breasts heaving from her exertions.

He stroked her body gently, as she had done to him. “I adore it when you come,” he said. “It feels like I own you.”

“You do. I knew it from the first time we made love.”

He pinched her rump. “Do I own you because I have sex with you?”

She laughed, rolling to her back and letting her head sink deep into a pillow. “Of course. Just because you are the handsomest man I have ever known, and certainly the most intelligent, and just because I love you with every fiber of my being, well, all that has no bearing whatsoever on a good poke.” She laughed again and rolled on top of him. She kissed his lips, then lifted her head to look into his eyes. “I will always love you, my beloved, even if we never make love again. And you will own me completely, forever. I want you to always know that.”

“I do, my darling.”

She rested her head on his chest. “I hurt your leg when I make love, don’t I?”

He would not lie to her. “Not really. It gets sore for a minute or two, but I’m so engrossed in watching you enjoy yourself that I rarely think of it.”

“Truthfully now. Does it bother you that I must come like that?”

“Why should it?”

“Oh, you know, the male’s conceit being frustrated by being unable to climax the woman on the end of his penis.” She shrugged. “The woman having to masturbate to bring it off.”

He knew better than to chuckle or to pass it off lightly. “I’m masturbating also, Katrine. It’s just that I’m doing it inside of you.”

She raised her head and looked levelly at him, her brow wrinkled as she digested his comment. “That’s quite true,” she finally said, lowering her head again onto his chest. “I’ve never thought of it in that sense before.” She was silent for a few seconds. “But you are doing it the conventional way.”

“Who decided it is the conventional way?”

“It’s the way you make babies, and that’s supposedly the primary function of poking.”

“How do you know that people didn’t poke from the rear in the past? Like almost every animal does?”

She shifted to his side and began caressing his chest. “Are there other animals who do it from the front also?” she asked idly.

Hershel chuckled. No wonder he loved her. “I don’t really know,” he said. “Let me think. Wait, some of the crustaceans do. The lobsters, certainly, and I think the crayfish. And, oh yes, spiders. There are others, I’m sure.”

She lay peacefully still for a while. “Will you do it from the rear the next time?”

He drew her closer. “If you wish.”

“Good.” She placed a leg over his hips and snuggled against him. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.”

In almost no time at all, they were both asleep.