Rasputin's Revenge Read Online Free Page A

to be embarrassing, although neither of their Royal Highnesses seemed to notice. Nicholas said to his wife, “May I introduce Monsieur Jules Giraud.”
    I stepped closer and took her proffered hand to kiss. No sooner had I done so than I felt a pressure that prevented me from releasing her.
    “Vous etes francais, n’est-ce pas?”
she asked with an execrable accent.
    “Bien sûr, Madame l’Empress.”
    Now she took my hand in both of hers and stared deeply into my eyes. I felt compelled to meet her gaze, and struggled to maintain my composure in the face of such intense scrutiny.
    None of the rumors I had heard about Alexandra—that she was haughty, unfriendly, reserved—prepared me for the warmth I read in her eyes. She had a lovely face, perfect skin, a slim yet buxom figure. And lastly, as she reached some decision, a beautiful smile.
    I felt myself drawn to her, wanting to protect her, and I believe I got an indication of what the Czar must feel as her husband. There might be acertain surface reserve there, but this was a woman with deep feelings and a passionate nature.
    She released my hand, then, and turned to her husband, who had been standing by passively. “Oh, Nicky,” she said, again in English, “our prayers have been answered.”
    The Czar pulled up two chairs and motioned for me to take one. “Which prayers are those, Sunny?”
    “For Alyosha, as our Friend predicted.”
    “Ah.” Nicholas sat back and lit a cigarette. Alexandra looked at me.
    “Monsieur Giraud, your arrival has been foretold. I saw in your eyes that you are a good man, a kind man. And last week our son’s tutor, Pierre Gaillard, was taken down with cholera. We pray for him daily, but he is contagious and cannot go near Alexis.” She reached out and took the Czar’s hand. “Do you remember, Nicky? Last week Gregory said a Frenchman would arrive in court to take Pierre’s place?”
    Nicholas responded gently. “Monsieur Giraud isn’t here to tutor Alyosha, I’m afraid.”
    But the Empress would not be gainsaid. She reached her hand out to me. “Monsieur Giraud?”
    It was not professional. It was possibly not even smart, but I’d not been sent as a professional diplomat, and the opportunity to become close to the Royal Family seemed rich with potential for my mission. I looked into Alexandra’s eyes and saw there a great reassurance.
    “I am your Majesty’s humblest servant,” I said, not exactly striking a blow for the spirit of republican France.
    But in reality I was acting from the most French of motives—the desire to please a woman. And the Czarina is already, after but one meeting, first a woman, and only incidentally Empress of Russia.
    I was invited to stay on here in Tsarkoye Selo whenever I would prefer. My suite is on the top floor of one of the many houses for nobility that line the boulevard leading from the train station to the Alexander Palace. The house itself—as are all the houses—is guarded by Imperial troops in the most outlandish of costumes. Blue sashes and swinging sabers.
    In all, I’m not dissatisfied with events thus far. True, I haven’t gotten any commitment from the Czar, but then I haven’t tried. It is no small thing to become an intimate of a royal family, and I am well on my way to that position.
    Tomorrow I am to be introduced to Alexis and to his sisters, the Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia. But tonight I will be attending a soiree of some kind at the house of a woman named AnnaVyroubova, who I gather is the Czarina’s only personal friend. Alexandra mentioned that she would not be surprised if a special guest were present—the man who “predicted” my arrival at court, who has healed the Heir Apparent on at least two occasions, whom Sukhomlinov called the most powerful man in Russia.
    I am very much looking forward to the party. I am beginning to have a strong feeling that my success will depend to a great degree on the support of the Friend—Gregory