Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5 (31 page)

He filled two glasses with vodka. “Well, it seems I don’t, and I’m grateful you came over here today, really. Oh, not that I was even close to being serious about her, but it’s best to find out these things so I can stop wasting my time with her.”

“That’s how I feel about Colt,” she primly agreed, taking the glass he offered.

He gestured for her to sit down on the sofa, and she exclaimed over the alligator skin, thought it marvelous. In fact, she cooed, she loved everything in the room, declared that he had marvelous taste.

He sat beside her, and she maneuvered to provocatively afford him a better view of her bosom, which she noticed he was appreciating. The vodka was going to make things so much easier, for she would be able to say later that she wasn’t used to drinking the Russian liquor, had been intoxicated and not in control.

She drained her glass, and he politely refilled it.

Drake urged her to tell him more about this unpleasant side of Dani. Lily enjoyed her lies, all the while moving closer to him till their thighs touched.

He noticed how her voice was becoming slurred, thought it was part of the act to pretend to be so intoxicated she lost control and offered herself for easy seduction. He knew he could have her anytime he wanted only he didn’t want her. He merely wanted Colt to be able to see how easily she could be had by any man with money and how he’d be making the biggest mistake of his life if he allowed himself to be tricked into marrying her by whatever devious scheme she concocted. But Colt wasn’t here, and Drake needed time to set up his own chicanery.

He slipped an arm around her shoulders, drew her close and whispered, “I’d really hate to see you return to England just now, when we’re getting to know each other.”

Lily obligingly melted against him. This part was easy. She needed no pretense, for she found him extremely desirable. “Yes, that’s true, and we’ve got so much in common because we’ve both been used by Coltranes, haven’t we?”

His lips brushed against hers tantalizingly. “But no more, my sweet. No more. Promise me you won’t leave Paris till we’ve had a chance to really get to know each other.”

She shook her head slowly, eyes glowing with the heat that was rapidly spreading over her body in response to his nearness. “No, no, I won’t. We’ll have all the time we need, but—”

He silenced her with a kiss, deep, hungry, searching. His free hand moved swiftly to pull down the teasing bodice of her gown, exposing firm and luscious breasts that served to arouse him despite his resolve that his contempt for this shrew would thwart any true desire. Her nipples grew taut and hard beneath the gently pinching caress of his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes,” she moaned, arching her back to press yet closer to him.

Drake lowered his lips to gently suckle each nipple, feeling the swelling of his desire. It couldn’t happen now, he reminded the pounding within. It couldn’t happen at all, and he was only torturing himself but had to go far enough to make her believe he truly wanted her. He felt no guilt over plans to expose her for the money-hungry little bitch she was. After all, what she wanted to do to Colt was much worse. She’d get over this, move on to someone else until she finally succeeded in marrying a man for his money.

Lily was sliding back to lie down, pulling him along with her. With pretended shyness, she maneuvered to touch him between his legs and gasp at the swelling there. “Oh, Drakar,” she cooed with exaggerated awe. “You are wonderful. I can’t wait…”

She pushed him away gently and then with unbelievable speed was out of her gown and undergarments to lie before him naked. She parted her thighs, rendering herself vulnerable to his assault. “Take me, darling,” she begged. “Oh, Drakar, take me, please. Fill me with your love…”

He felt his heat rising to boiling; knew he’d reached the point of no return. Quickly, he undressed, then easily entered her with one mighty thrust. He could not help smiling to himself at the way she remembered to squirm a bit, gasp as though pained by the unfamiliar violation.

She lifted her legs to lock about his waist in a viselike grip and bring herself to a rapid climax. Drake afforded himself the same quick release.

They lay together for a few moments in silence. Then, taking a deep breath, Drake resigned himself to the fact that he’d been weak, but hell, he’d never apologized for being a man. He sat up, straightened himself while Lily quickly did the same. Any fear of having ruined his plans was dissipated b her next words.

“I can’t wait for you to love me again.” She laid her head on his shoulder, looked at him with adoring eyes. “I’ll admit I was deeply hurt by Colt in the beginning. I felt so humiliated that he’d renege on his proposal to me, but I see now that it was fate taking over because you and I are destined to be together…and I’m so glad I saved myself for you.”

He was momentarily stunned by her performance. God, she was good. No wonder Colt had been fooled.

“But it’s sad we’ll have to part soon,” she went on to say, sounding as though she were about to cry. “I’ll have to leave the Coltrane mansion, and I have nowhere to go except home to England…” Her voice trailed off meaningfully.

Drake caught his cue, brusquely commanded, “No, you can’t. We need time to see if this is real, Lily. I know you don’t want to rush into anything any more than I do, but surely you agree we need to give it a chance to see if it’s real.”

Quickly, she agreed. “Yes, yes, of course I do, my darling.” She sat up to face him eagerly. “But what do we do? How can I face Colt after this…” She lowered her lashes in false shame.

Drake pretended to ponder the situation gravely. “As I said, neither of us wants to rush into anything. Meanwhile, I’m going to check with my hotel manager. I’m sure he can find an available suite for you—no charge, of course.”

She felt like shouting with joy but exhibited humility. “No, no, I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Why not? It’s my hotel.”

Shyly she asked, “Do you think it’d be proper?”

“I see no other alternative. It’s certainly not your fault your purse was stolen.”

He stood, sounding genuinely apologetic as he told her, “I’ve got a business appointment this afternoon, and I have to be leaving soon. Suppose you just go back to the Coltrane mansion, pretend nothing has changed, and tonight come over here and we’ll talk again.”

She slipped her arms around his neck. “Try and stop me, my darling.”

He kissed her with great effort, for the fire was out and resentment and contempt had extinguished even the embers. Now he only wanted to go through with his plan to expose her.

Once she’d left, he wrote a short note to Colt requesting his presence at his apartment at half past nine to discuss important personal family business. Colt, no doubt, would think it concerned his sister.

He rang for a servant, gave him precise orders to give to the courier, then sat back to pour himself a brandy. He was not happy over what he had to do but consoled himself by thinking that one day Colt would be grateful he’d spared him a life of misery married to a gold-digging shrew.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Arnald Twigby stared at the envelope in his hand as he stood outside the back door of the Coltrane mansion. It was starting to rain, and he wasn’t very happy about the prospect of getting wet. Neither was he thrilled over returning to the same house where he’d been treated so rudely earlier in the day. He hadn’t received the usual gratuity, and, adding insult to injury, he’d had a door slammed in his face. This visit, he’d gone to the rear in hopes of not encountering the same woman who’d been so uncivil to him earlier.

He had already knocked several times, so he began to pound loudly, an apprehensive eye on the dark, threatening clouds overhead. In the distance could be heard the rumble of thunder and there was an occasional slash of lightning to brighten the dimness of the late-afternoon sky.

Inside, Hugeley Metalberne sat at the kitchen work table, guzzling from a bottle of sherry. He frowned as the knocking continued insistently. He rose from his chair, stumbled to the back door.

He jerked it open to irritably demand, “Well, what is it? What do you want?”

Arnald groaned softly. No gratuity from this drunken slob. “I’ve a message for
Monsieur
Coltrane.”

Hugeley belched. “He isn’t here.”

Arnald had explicit orders to give the message to the name on the envelope and no one else. If he couldn’t make his delivery now, he’d have to make yet another trip to this primitive place.

“Then could you tell me where to find him?” he pressed. “I have orders to deliver to him only.”

Hugeley shook his head, started to close the door.

Arnald threw up his hand to block it. “Please. It’s getting dark, and there’s a storm brewing, and I’ll just have to keep coming back until
Monsieur
is available. Won’t you save both of us a lot of trouble and tell me where I can find him?”

“I’ll see he gets it.” Hugeley snatched the envelope from Arnald’s hand, gave him a shove backward, then quickly slammed the door.

Arnald immediately began to beat on the door with both fists, protesting loudly. “Wait! Come back. Open this door. You can’t do this. I’ve got my orders.”

“I’ll save us both some bother,” Hugeley shouted through the door. “Now go away.”

Arnald felt the first splattering drops of rain. He stood there a moment, washed in anger and frustration, then decided what the hell? Who was going to know? As far as he was concerned that old drunk could have been Coltrane. In fact, if anything was ever said, if there was any trouble, he’d just say the old drunk
said
he was Coltrane. How was he to know? Besides, it served everybody right because he hadn’t been tipped for his trouble.

He hurried away to escape the impending storm.

Hugeley shuffled back to the table, sat down and took another drink. He stared at the envelope a moment, then began to worry that he might be getting himself in a peck of trouble for taking it. He decided he’d better see what was going on so he’d know whether he’d truly erred. With shaking fingers, he tore open the envelope. Then, as he read the few short lines, his eyes grew wide with fear at the realization that he’d interfered in something that sounded terribly important. He’d heard of the man who signed it—Drakar, a very wealthy and powerful Russian who would not be happy over such interference.

Frantically, Hugeley tore the note to pieces and reached for the bottle of sherry. If anyone asked, he’d swear he didn’t know anything about any message, that no one had come to the door all evening. Let the courier get fired. He had to look after himself; he had a wife and two children to feed. Couldn’t afford to lose his job over a silly mistake. As far as he was concerned, none of it had happened.

It was late, almost eight thirty. Dani had meant to leave the shop for Le Palais over an hour ago, but it seemed everything had conspired to make for a busy day. There had been more customers than usual, most of them browsing to while away the afternoon. Finally she was able to begin her cleaning chores, but in the midst of all that, two of her tenants had gotten into a loud argument, and she’d had to calm them down by threatening eviction. Artists, she was discovering, could be quite temperamental.

As a result of the hectic day, she was quite frustrated and dropped the basket she was carrying. The bottle of champagne she had planned to share with Drake shattered.

With a mild curse, she cleaned up the mess. There was no more champagne as good as what she’d intended to bring, but anything would have to do.

In a little alley between buildings across the street, Cyril impatiently watched from the shadows. Unconsciously, he popped his knuckles, an annoying habit whenever he was nervous. Everything was all set. A courier would take the bogus telegram from Russia to Drakar at exactly three in the morning. Dani would, no doubt, have left his apartment long before that ungodly hour.

Breaking into the shop would be no problem. On his earlier visit he’d unlatched a window when Dani wasn’t looking. All he had to do was step inside once the neighborhood was sleeping, take the painting, and leave. He’d made arrangements to have someone watching in readiness to abort any attempt by Drakar to tell Dani he had been called away—even to the point of becoming physical if the Russian himself appeared. It would be made to look like a robbery; he would knock Drakar unconscious, steal his wallet, drag him down to the railroad depot, and leave him there. If that happened, Cyril was prepared to concoct a scheme to spirit Dani quickly away so she’d hot be there later, should Drakar make yet another attempt to see her.

He frowned to think it would be nearly a week before he could leave Paris, but because of the season, ships were not leaving from Cherbourg as often as in the summer. Well, he’d just conceal the painting, act normally. Everything would be fine.

He smiled complacently. Everything was going according to plan. Soon, the painting would be in his possession…and who could say how Dani would react when Drakar disappeared so suddenly and she believed he was a thief?

Colt prowled angrily through the house. Almost nine o’clock, dammit. Where was everybody? His parents weren’t there. The servants had retired for the night. Even Lily was not to be found, and he particularly wanted to see her.