Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (24 page)

He rolled over, covering her, his arms resting either side of her head. “I take it last night means I am forgiven for secretly marrying you?”

She frowned up at him. “No. Last night means I am no celibate nun.”

Nate dropped his head kissing the column of her throat. “Shame, I thought you were a devoted supplicant to our worship last night.”

She arched her back under his caress, an ache building inside as she struggled to remember his question, her brain too lazy to function.

Watching her drift off, he paused in his attentions. “Loki and Miguel are due this morning. Do you want Loki to find you like this?”

A slow, sensuous smile spread across her face. She was still curious about Loki’s many piercings. “It would be one way to pass the day.”

Nate growled. “You can get dressed. If he so much as looks at your naked body, I will be forced to kill my oldest friend.” His lips settled over her pulse and he bit gently before laving the delicate skin with his tongue.

Cara moaned, moving her hips and trying to inch him lower to the centre of her growing need.

A knock sounded at the bedroom door and Nate barked out for them to enter, but he held his place. He rocked his body, gently stroking the entire length of her, causing her to bite her lip to suppress her groan.

The maid picked up Cara’s robe from by the window and, with averted eyes, stood by her side of the bed. She held up the robe, and gave a discrete cough.

Nate’s gaze burned. “We’ll continue this later.” He dropped his head to deliver a swift, fierce kiss before rolling off her. Rising, he walked naked across the room to where the valet waited with a dressing gown and the necessary shaving supplies.

Cara stifled her laugh at the wide eyed expression on the maid’s face, a unique mix of horror mingled with fascination. Not only was Nate naked, but fully aroused and a startling sight to those unaccustomed to such endowments. It wasn’t until his robe went over his broad shoulders and he pulled the tie tight did the woman’s attention return to Cara.

An hour later, they were both dressed and had a light breakfast involving kippers at the long table flooded with morning sunlight. A stack of coded messages awaited Nate, and having read the secret missives, he fed them into a small personal incinerator. Shaped like a dragon head, he closed the jaw and pressed a side lever. A puff of smoke rose from the dragon’s deep set nostrils as it consumed the paper offerings.

Cara savoured the last of her coffee as the suite doors slid open to admit Miguel and Loki.

“Any sign of Sergei?” Nate asked.

“No, and we’re attracting a fair bit of attention by asking. And this one”―Loki gestured his thumb in Miguel’s direction―”is proving popular with the ladies.”

Loki sounded jealous and colour rose up Miguel’s neck.

“Keep asking, just try and avoid any fights. Sergei will find you once he knows you ask on my behalf.” Nate crossed the room to the shiny brass aethergraph, which burst into life and shot forth several inches of tape. Nate ripped it free and glanced at the contents.

“For you, from Fraser,” he said as he took the message to Cara.

She glanced down. He had used a simple transposed letter code, basic to interpret and kept the message safe from only the briefest glimpse.

Much is said of the accuser, little of the accusation. Be on your guard, you are pursued. HF.

She raised her eyes to Nate’s piercing gaze. “I can feel his disappointment at not finding any truth in the charge yet. He says we are being pursued. Not unexpected, I suppose?”

“No. There is little they can do here; we have powerful friends to protect us while we dig after Nolton.”

“We need to decide what to do about Hatshepsut’s Collar too. I’ve found the passages in my books. I just need to make sense of them.” She gave a sigh at being pulled in so many different directions. Wadding up the message, she pushed the paper into the dragon head. Rising, she patted its jaw shut and left the beast to toast the paper while she fetched her parasol. The slim handle concealed a long and deadly stiletto, a gift from Nate. She lived in hope for the opportunity to test the blade.

Miguel’s awkward movement attracted Cara’s attention. He kept tugging on his shirt and lifting the fabric away from his chest. Turning, she used her parasol like a sword, pinning the tip to the middle of Loki’s chest and halting his attempt to slip past her. “What did you do to Miguel?”

Dark, laughing eyes regarded her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. He is clearly uncomfortable with his shirt, did you get him drunk and tattooed?” Her eyes slid to the youth she came to regard as a younger brother. A protective urge welled up inside her, and instinct pinned the blame for whatever transpired squarely on Loki.

Miguel blushed, a rich crimson creeping up his neck and mingling with the deep auburn of his hair. His gaze flicked to the floor and his hand dropped away from his shirt.

Loki laughed. “No tattoo. Not this time. It’s a nipple ring. It’ll be tender for a few days. Then he’ll enjoy it a whole lot more.”

Cara shook her head; the pirate was incorrigible. “I want to be around to watch the day you meet your match, Lachlan Hawke. I want to watch every moment of it when you fall on your arse.”

“Well,” he gave a deep drawl, his fingers going to the buttons at the waist of his pants. “If you want to see my arse―”

Cara threw up her hands. “You keep stoking that ego higher and you’ll just have farther to fall when it happens.”

Nate coughed, drawing attention from the rising banter. “I assume you and Natalie made plans for today?”

Cara ran a hand along the back of Nate’s shoulders as she moved in front of him. “Yes, so I’ll leave you boys to whatever you plan to get up to. Natalie and I are spending the day together, and I’ll be back this evening.”

Nate gave her a penetrating blue stare. “What are you two up too?”

Cara stood on tiptoe and kissed him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I’ll let you know what I find out, if it’s relevant.”

He captured her, an arm snaking around her waist, the other diving into the hair at the base of her neck. “If you’ll be gone all day, I need more than that to sustain me.” He gave a gentle tug on her hair, sufficient to pull her head back as his mouth claimed hers. Like a man with all the time in the world, his tongue slow danced with hers. He brought memories of the previous night to the fore, igniting the heat lingering under her skin.

Only then did he lift his head. “Until tonight,
cara mia
.”

“That’s not a very fair promise if you don’t intend to share,” Loki murmured, his gaze black as coal as it raked over Cara.

Miguel screwed up his face and cast a mortified look at Loki. “I look on her like a sister.”

Loki raised his hands and laughed. “But not my sister.”

Cara blew him a kiss and stole out of the suite.

Natalie waited in the lush foyer. Seated on a silver love seat, the back twisted and curved with metal ivy clinging to its form as the chair cradled hers. She wore silver taffeta and diamonds and looked every inch the Russian princess.

On seeing Cara, she rose and kissed both cheeks before linking arms. “We have a mission today with a particular demimondaine if you are game?” Her tone was conspiratorial in case they were overheard, discussing their visit to a high class courtesan.

Cara frowned wondering what assistance a member of the demi-monde could offer. “She can help with our problem?”

Natalie smiled as they descended the hotel steps and were handed into her small landau. “Yes. She has many benefactors. One of them is Nate’s enemy.”

Cara settled into the butter-soft leather seat. “You certainly have your finger on the pulse.”

Natalie winked, but refused to be drawn any further. The driver urged the horses forward and they trotted along the road, their hooves loud against the hard paving, the crisp autumn air amplifying the sound. Cara shivered; for once glad the many layers of her skirt offered much-needed insulation.

“It will snow soon,” Natalie commented on the descent into winter. “And then the city will become even more beautiful.”

In Cara’s mind she draped icicles from the wrought iron lights and blanketed the streets and buildings in white. “I’d like to see that. St. Petersburg already seems magical to me, snow would make the magic visceral.”

They pulled into an old neighbourhood. Beautiful stone buildings, similar to the hotel, lined both sides of the street. The little carriage stopped outside a three storied building constructed of pale rose stone that radiated a feminine charm against its dour, grey, neighbours.

“Many of the grand old mansions are now apartments,” Natalie explained as they ascended the stairs and entered the little foyer. The dim light carried a faint pink tinge, lending warmth to the interior. A staircase snaked around one side of the entranceway, upon the balustrade, sensuous reptiles slid amongst the railings. Even the leadlight window on the first landing had a snake theme, depicting the serpent encircling the tree of life about to tempt an offstage Eve.

“This way.” Natalie tugged on Cara’s arm and drew her into the small elevator.

The bored attendant leaned against the wall, having an impromptu snooze. He snapped to attention, the sudden movement dislodging his small, flat topped hat. One hand lunged for the chapeau before it hit the ground. He tugged the hat down and kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Where to, ma’am?” he enquired of Natalie in French.

“Two, please.” Natalie rolled her eyes at Cara, who looked away least she burst into laughter at the youth’s flustered behaviour.

He pushed the brass doors closed, the gate simple vertical lines with a plain flourish along the top. He pulled the lever and the carriage rose into the air. An occasional thud emitted from the chain winching them higher, until it stopped with a ping at the second floor.

Once liberated from the metal cage, Cara found herself in a corridor with pale flooring and walls the same delicate rose as the exterior of the building. A silk hall-runner in shades of pink, sage, and cream covered the exact length of the corridor. Intertwined serpents dangled light fittings from their mouths. Two large, soft-green doors lined each side of the corridor, Natalie beelined for one in particular and rapped sharply.

“Entrée,” a bored voice called.

She pushed the door open and Cara entered the home of a demimondaine, the highest class of courtesan.

And crazy cat lady.

Cara cocked a questioning eyebrow at Natalie, who gave a small shake of her head, laughter burning in her chocolate gaze.

Several cats gave unblinking stares at the intruders. They adorned the back of sofas, one sat on the mantelpiece, another stretched below in front of the hearth and one―by far the largest―blocked their entrance into the room like a small furry bouncer.

“Rasputin,” Natalie cried, sweeping the large tabby tom into her arms. He butted his head against her cheek and began purring as she moved to one of the ornate pink and cream sofas. Natalie swept her skirts to one side and lowered herself, careful not to bump the cat, who positioned himself on her lap glaring at the two cats behind him. She patted the sofa next to her, indicating for Cara to sit.

Cara plonked herself down and cast curious eyes over the reclining figure opposite them. Stretched out, one arm over her head, the woman wore a silk robe of the palest rose. Long blonde curls tumbled around her face and spilled over the side of the cushions and sofa. The room was chic with its tonal arrangement of rose, cream, and softest green. Cushions, curtains, and lush carpets continued the colour theme.

“Do tell me you bring gossip, Natalie. Life is hideously boring today.” A French accent touched her words.

“This is my friend Cara. She is married to the Viscount Lyons, who recently escaped the Tower of London and is being pursued by legions of British soldiers.” The large tabby settled on Natalie’s lap and padded the silver gown. Cara winced when his claw caught in a strand of the expensive taffeta, pulling a thread free.

“Oh.” The other woman sat up, pushing herself deeper into the cushions, feline green eyes fixed on Cara. “Sounds delicious.”

“Cara, this is Justine Montmarte, a dear old friend.”

A scowl marred her perfect heart shaped face. “Not so much of the old, thank you, I do believe I am still younger than you.”

Natalie laughed, brushing aside the insult between friends. “We need your help, Justine. Cara’s husband has made an enemy of the English Duke Nolton.”

“Ah, Granite Grantham.” She lay back on the sofa and the cat from high on the mantel leaped across to pad on her chest. She raised one hand to stroke its long cream fur. “He is no longer welcome here. I value my neck too much.”

“What do you mean?” Cara asked, adding the nickname Granite Grantham to her long list of questions.

A pale hand made airy gestures above the sofa. “He has dark tastes. He likes to wrap his hands around your throat while fucking.”

A chill shot down Cara’s spine. She remembered her conversation with Loki about his night with Sara Collins, Nolton’s niece. Loki made the same comment;
she has dark tastes, that one.

“Is it to heighten your pleasure?” Cara had heard of such a phenomena, though it held no appeal to her. The lack of oxygen from the partial asphyxiation was supposed to heighten the orgasm.

“No, he doesn’t care anything for our pleasure. Only his own. He likes to see a woman’s life slip from her eyes. He once told me he could feel my soul, brushing across his hand.”

Cara and Natalie exchanged worried looks.

“He takes it too far. The time he made me pass out was the last time for me. He took to visiting Irina next door. Her protector moved to younger pastures and she needed the cash, poor mite.” Her fingers tugged on the long coat of the cat. “One day he closed his hands and throttled her while he got off, but forgot to loosen his grip. Afterwards he knocked on my door, told me to clean up. Said it was the best orgasm he ever had as her soul struggled free between his fingers.”

Cara let out a low whistle between her teeth. “Let me guess, her death was covered up and no one cared because she was demi-monde?”