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forward again. “After our walk, I'll have the cabin boy bring a glass of tea. You must drink every drop.”
    Tasia made a croaking sound and nodded. She longed to rest, but the tortuous walk continued until Kirill was satisfied that it had been enough. Carefully he helped her ease into a chair. She sat like an arthritic old woman, folded in a miserable heap. Kirill covered her with a blanket. “Little firebird,” he said in a kindly way, holding her hand for a moment.
    “Papa…” she said in a muffled voice.
    “ Dah , I remember that he used to call you that. To Ivan you were all the light and beauty in the world. The firebird is the symbol of happiness.” He smiled thoughtfully. “As the story goes, the firebird falls into deathlike sleep at sunset, and later awakens to new life.” He brought a handful of objects to her, setting them on a nearby shelf where she could view them. “Your mother wanted these to be buried with you,” he said gruffly. “You can keep them with you in England. They are little bits of your past, to help you remember.”
    “No.”
    “Take them,” he insisted. “Someday you'll be glad to have them.”
    Tasia glanced at the keepsakes. Her throat tightened as she saw the filigree cross on a gold chain. Her grandmother, Galina Vasilievna, had worn it every day of her life. A small diamond was set in the center of the cross, surrounded by a mass of blood-colored rubies.
    Next to the necklace was a fist-sized icon of the Madonna and Christ Child, their halos painted with gold. Tasia's eyes stung with tears as she saw the last object, a carved gold ring that had belonged to her father. Reaching for the ring, she closed her thin fingers around it.
    Kirill smiled at her compassionately, reading the hopelessness in her eyes. “You're safe now,” he murmured. “You're alive. Keep thinking of that—it might help.”
    Tasia stared after him as he left. Experimentally she ran her tongue across her cracked lips. She concentrated on bringing some moisture to her dry mouth. Oh, she was alive, but not safe. For the rest of her life she would be like a hunted animal, always wondering when the end would come. What kind of existence was that? I'm alive , she thought numbly, waiting for a spark of joy, relief, anything except the shadows that filled her entire being.

One

    A licia, Lady Ashbourne wrung her hands nervously. “Luke, I have wonderful news. We have found a governess for Emma. She's splendid young woman; intelligent, beautifully mannered...perfect in every way. You must meet her at once and see for yourself.”
    Lucas, Lord Stokehurst looked up with an ironic smile. “So that's why you invited me here this afternoon. And I thought it was for my charming company.”
    For half an hour he had been plied with tea and small talk in the drawing room of the Ashbournes' Queen's Square estate. He had been close friends with Charles Ashbourne since their days at Eton. Charles was a sociable man who had the rare gift of always seeing the best in people—a gift that Luke did not share. Discovering that Luke would be in London for the day, Charles had invited him to take tea when his business was concluded. As soon as Luke entered the drawing room, he had known from the Ashbournes' expressions that they were going to ask a favor.
    “She's perfect,” Alicia repeated. “Isn't she, Charles?”
    Charles agreed with enthusiasm. “I would say so, m'dear.”
    “Since you had such poor luck with the previous governess,” Alicia continued, “I've kept an eye out for a suitable replacement. You know how fond I've always been of your daughter, and since she has no mother of her own...” She hesitated. “Oh, dear. I didn't mean to remind you of Mary.”
    Luke's dark face was expressionless. Several years had passed since the death of his wife, but it still hurt to hear her name. It would hurt until the day he died. “Go on,” he said evenly. “Tell me about this paragon.”
    “Her name is Karen