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lips. Perspiration beaded his body, and Zena quivered pleasurably as she remembered his hard, lean back arched in ecstasy beneath her fingers as he'd released his passion. Many moments later, he stirred against he as if to draw away, and Zena realized with embarrassment that she was still clutching him tightly. Her arms fell away, and the prince immediately rolled off her and onto his back, expelling a long, low whistle of appreciative reverence. Twisting back on his side, he planted a hasty kiss on Zena's cheek.
    "Never, sweet dove, never in my life have I encountered such a hot-blooded virgin," he whispered. "What luck I found you, ma petite. Our holiday from the boredom of Petersburg will be magnifique." He chuckled deep in his throat, contemplating the rich delight in tutoring such untried passion.
    Zena's heart plummeted in shame at the prince's smoldering look of satisfaction, at the lewd insinuation. He wouldn't suggest such a thing to her unless he thought her thoroughly sunk beneath contempt.
    Since Zena had never participated in the conviviality of St. Petersburg's aristocratic society, having only lately come of age, she was not aware that liaisons and holidays of passion were not the sole province of streetwalkers and fallen women. If the arrangements could be cloaked with an acceptable discretion (and in some cases even that commodity was expendable), the upper classes were quite willing, if not daringly innovative, participants in the game of musical beds. 3
    "I couldn't go on holiday with you, my lord," she murmured uncomfortably. "I'm so ashamed of myself."
    "Ashamed?" Alex questioned, mildly shocked at such a curious revelation. "It's not your fault I mistook you for a woman of the streets."
    "Ashamed of succumbing to your advances, my lord. It isn't right," she sadly replied.
    "Your flesh just responded to its natural desires; it was bound to happen eventually. Look, my sweet," he said soothingly, reaching out with a fingertip to turn Zena's face toward him, "let me reassure you, from vast experience in the boudoirs of Petersburg, virginity in the brittle, impious society in which I move is as rare and elusive as the unicorn of fable."
    In order to salve the poor girl's conscience, Alex might have been stretching the truth somewhat, but not a great deal, he mused. There was a certain amount of virginity, of course, but generally it was closely allied to squinty eyes, grossly ugly features, or avoirdupois that even flowing silk and tightly laced corsets couldn't conceal. The only reason a lush beauty like the mademoiselles hadn't been ravished yet was apparently that she had been in seclusion— although, from the sound of it, the old general had been doing his damnedest to remedy that circumstance even before the engagement.
    Could he pride himself on having introduced her more subtly, with considerably more expertise and gentleness, to the congress between a man and a woman than ever the aged general would have been able to? Could he assuage his brief twinge of guilt over taking her virginity by assuming that his tutoring in the art of love would be infinitely more enjoyable than that of a fat, corrupt, and practically senile lecher? The answer to both questions was yes, if rationalization was required, but it wasn't, since Alexander Nikolaevich had always done more or less as he liked, taking a page from the behavior of a long line of wealthy, arrogant, charming Kuzan rogues who'd never seriously curtailed any of their desires.
    Alex acknowledged the basic inequity in the matter of female conquest, but he acknowledged it impartially— that is to say, he recognized the necessity in life of female submission to male domination. With a true aristocratic disdain for the prescribed conventions of society, he felt no compunction to resist ruining a virgin. All women were fair game, regardless of age, rank, or condition. The prince would deflower a virgin as casually as he would mount the bawdiest wench. It was