Bewitched (Bantam Series No. 16) by Barbara Cartland

was Russian and I have lived in St. Petersburg and Moscow for nearly ten years of my life. It is obvious that I should be Russian.”
    “You are right!” Charles Collington cried. “And you look mysterious and excitingly Russian with that black hair and that ivory skin!”
    There was a flirtatious note in Charles Collington’s voice which the Marquis did not miss.
    “I think perhaps you should go now, Saviya,” he said. “I would not wish your father to be incensed because you are late, and it is important that you should not be forbidden to return to the house. Will you enquire if we may borrow the coins?”
    “I will bring them tomorrow,” Saviya replied.
    She made a deep curtsy to the Marquis and a very brief one to Charles Collington. Then she moved away from them down the Long Gallery, and they both of them watched her graceful figure until she disappeared through the doorway at the far end.
    Charles Collington gave an exclamation.
    “My God, Fabius,” he said, “you are a dark horse! Where did you find anything so entrancing, so fascinating, so incredibly beautiful?”

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    The Marquis, dressing for dinner, thought with satisfaction that so far everything had gone well.
    Sir Algernon Gibbon had arrived early in the afternoon, and the Marquis and Charles Collington had taken him out to a newly-ploughed field to show him where they said they had found seven Roman coins.
    He had become extremely excited, saying that they were not only of great antiquity but in his opinion very valuable, and he strongly advised the Marquis to dig deeper in the immediate neighbourhood of the find in case there were other treasures as yet undiscovered.
    He went into a long dissertation on the way the Romans built their Amphitheatres and the construction of their villas, and pointed out with reason that there were many Roman remains at the neighbouring town of St. Albans.
    The Marquis had listened with flattering attention, being more punctilious in this particular than he would have been otherwise, because he knew that Charles Collington was restless.
    What occupied his friend’s mind were the plans they had made for the evening. The Marquis thought with a smile that no-one could have taken more trouble to ensure that their campaign to deceive Sir Algernon was mapped out down to the last detail.
    He also told himself that never had he spent a more amusing time than he had the last few days, when they had been teaching Saviya her part.
    She had been, as the Marquis expected, a quick-brained and tremendously receptive pupil.
    They only had to tell her something once: never did she forget or fail to carry out their instructions to perfection.
    What had pleased the Marquis was that, while Charles Collington had taken upon himself the role of producer, it was to himself that Saviya regularly looked not only for confirmation of what was said but for approval when she did what was asked of her.
    He found himself waiting for that half-shy and yet trusting little glance she gave him.
    It was as if she realised that he was a greater authority than Charles Collington and, what was more, she valued his opinion more than anyone else’s.
    Charles Collington could not praise her enough!
    “She is fantastic!” he kept saying over and over again. “No-one would believe she was a Gypsy or that she had not been born into one of the highest families in the land! She is a living example of our contention that it is not blue blood which makes a lady, but education.”
    “And sensitivity,” the Marquis added.
    “Of course,” his friend replied, “Saviya is unusually sensitive and receptive to everything one says or does.”
    “You are a born actress,” the Marquis said to her once and she replied:
    “I think that good acting depends on experiencing one’s role emotionally as well as mentally. A dancer has to feel deeply everything she portrays, so perhaps it is not as difficult for me as for other people”
    It was this remark