Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5 (38 page)

Feeling somewhat embarrassed for having behaved like an ogre when she was obviously telling the truth, he released her wrists and put his arm around her to comfort her. Gathering her close, he walked her to the velvet bench by the window and sat her down. “Let me get you a glass of wine. I’ve a carafe in the bedroom.

“And stop your crying,” he crisply called over his shoulder. “I won’t report you.”

He disappeared into the other room, and Jade dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her starched blue apron. Such an actress. She’d actually produced a few genuine tears, she marveled.

He returned with a glass of burgundy.

“I shouldn’t,” she protested. “I’d be severely chastised for drinking, especially here, with you…” She looked up at him through thick, silken lashes.

Colt sucked in his breath involuntarily. God, he’d never seen anyone so magnificently beautiful. Her skin was the color of fine cream, and her hair glowed with a thousand fires. There was an unfamiliar accent to her voice that was melodic, sensuous.

He sat down beside her. “Now what’s this about you having to work two jobs?”

She repeated her story between sips of wine, finished by hopefully asking, “Can you understand now why I was so frightened when you came in,
monsieur
? You truly promise not to report me?”

He smiled. “I never promise anything. My word is good enough. Tell me,” he went on, “what’s your name?”

She gave him a warm look. He was nice, quite handsome, and she only hoped she could do what Drakar had asked without hurting this very desirable young man. “Jade,” she told him.

He looked into the misty depths of her eyes and felt a rush within as he murmured, “Jade,” then smiled. “Of course. What else could it be?”

In the salon of her suite, Dani tossed aside her fur and went to stand before the warmth of the marbled fireplace, which was enframed by mahogany. Upon the mantel was an array of German and Swiss silver-gilt pieces before a painting by Ruoppolo.

The suite was charming, but Dani was not thinking of opulence or comfort as she rubbed her arms absently, pensively. Her thoughts were much like the fire, twisting, dancing, finally disappearing into thin streams of smoke without resolution or form.

Where was Drake?

He had to be in Russia.

Where else would he have gone?

And why, dear God, did he have to leave so suddenly and do what he did? To steal the painting, to destroy everything that had been growing between them? How could he want something that badly? Perhaps she might have understood had it been a valuable piece of art, or if he’d even been in dire need of the money it might bring. But he was a very rich man.

She shook her head, bit down on her lower lip to stifle the impulse to cry.

What a fool she had been! The bitter taste of that realization would linger for a long, long time.

With a sigh of disgust, she went into the bedroom. Just inside there was a small dining alcove for intimate teas or late suppers. A French chandelier hung above the Sheraton pedestal breakfast table, surrounded by four Regency chairs. A lovely beige-and-gold Aubusson rug covered the coldness of the marble floor.

The bed dominated the room; it was a Georgian cherrywood with a canopy covered in flowered chintz. The walls were done in faux-bois paneling, echoed in the painted nightstand. A matched pair of mahogany serpentine china cabinets stood on each side of the draped and arched doorway leading to the balcony.

She was assailed by a chilling draft, noticed irritably that one of the sheer panels covering the glass was gently billowing. A door had not been properly closed. She moved to shut it, then froze as the sound of a familiar voice seemed to reach out to caress with its tenderness.

“Good morning, my darling.”

She did not have to see to know it was Drake who spoke. For a moment, she continued to stand perfectly still, drawing in her breath as she commanded her pounding heart to slow. Finally, she went on to close the door, and only then did she turn.

He was standing in the shadows in a far corner of the room. Contempt dripping like venom, she hissed, “You bastard! How dare you sneak into my bedroom…but then, sneaking around in my quarters during the night seems to be your forte!”

Drakar stepped from darkness into light and, arrogantly smiling, inquired, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

She saw that he was dressed in black shirt and trousers, cursed herself for the sudden rush of warmth within. Truly he was a handsome devil. “Which?” she fired back acidly. “‘Bastard…or the reference to your nocturnal tendencies?”

He stood before her. “I knew you were angry about what happened that last night in Paris, so I suppose that’s where the name-calling comes in, albeit a bit strong for such delicate lips, but what’s the reason behind the rest of your sarcasm?”

Dani clenched her fists at her side, aching to slap the insolence from his handsome face. “Wasn’t it insult enough that you turned out to be the womanizing scalawag I’d heard you were—without your stooping to the level of a common thief?”

He raised an eyebrow. What in the hell was she talking about?’ “Explain that remark, Dani.”

She waved her arms wildly, unleashing some of the furious energy threatening to explode. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. What you can’t have,
you take
!”

He grabbed her arms, pinned them to her sides. How dare she make such an accusation? He’d thought she was a mature, intelligent woman. There had been no seduction. She’d given herself freely.

His own ire erupted. “Are you crazy? You dare to play the role of innocent, indignant virgin? You know you wanted it every bit as much as I did. There were no commitments, and—”

“Damn you!”

He fell silent before the detonation of her fury.

Dani struggled to keep her voice down, lest someone hear, but dear God, she didn’t think she’d ever been so mad. “I’m not talking about what happened between us, and you know it. I’m talking about your stealing from me. How could you?”

“Steal?” he echoed, stupefied. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”

He released her to stare down in complete bafflement. “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dani regarded him coldly. He sounded sincere but she knew he was the sort who specialized in appearing innocent. Lips curling back contemptuously, she challenged him. “You lie, Drake! You know I’m talking about the painting. You took it the night you ran away from Paris.”

Fingers of dread clutched his spine, mentally shaking him to awareness as he asked the question he feared to have answered. “Are you talking about the painting of the Alexandrovsky Palace?”

Her laugh was brittle, taunting. “You amaze me, Drake. Did you think I wouldn’t suspect you? Why, you were the first person I thought of before I even heard you’d run away that night—too scared to face my brother.”

“God, Dani, I didn’t take it. I was even planning to come tell you the next day why I wanted it so badly. But I received an urgent message calling me to Russia. I had to leave, and there was no time to come and tell you. You wouldn’t have listened to anything I had to say that night, anyway.”

She laughed coldly. “Oh, another of your mixed-up messages? You do seem to have a time with them, don’t you?”

“Believe me, I wasn’t running away from Colt. Once he’d had time to calm down I was going to explain everything to him and make him see the whole thing was set up for him to realize Lily was a fake.”

“I don’t care about any of that now,” Dani snapped. “You probably did me a favor by letting me know what a liar and a cheat you really are before I wasted any more of my time on you. I came here for one reason—to get my painting back. I didn’t want any publicity about the theft, but if you don’t return it, you leave me no choice but to have you arrested.”

“I didn’t take your painting, Dani. If I had, would I have come here tonight?”

She laughed tauntingly. “I wouldn’t put anything past you. You probably came here because you heard I was in Saint Petersburg to have you arrested, so you decided to sneak in here and pretend you didn’t know anything about the theft. Well, it won’t work, because I don’t believe you. Now give me my painting,” she finished, raising her voice ever so slightly, “so I can go home and forget I ever knew you!”

Her eyes burned into his, fiery dots of burnt, smoldering cinnamon.

He turned away again, this time walking to the French doors leading to the balcony. Flinging one open, he drank deeply of the crisp air, hoped the frost in his lungs would move on to his brain and awaken him to some way of making her believe him.

But, he reminded himself with painful awareness, if the painting had been stolen, then he was right back where he’d started ten years ago when he set out to find it for the Czar and restore honor to the Mikhailonov name. Unless…

He snapped his fingers, ignored her scorning glare as he turned and cried, “Arpel!”

“What does Cyril have to do with any of this?” Dani coldly asked.

He took a deep breath, held out his hand to her. “You don’t owe me anything, Dani, and I can understand why you’re angry and upset, but all I’m asking is for you to hear me out, give me a chance to explain my side.”

She looked at his outstretched hand, the beseeching expression on his face, but was not moved.

“Dani, please. Give me a chance.”

“Why should I?”

He closed the door behind him, took a step closer to her. “Because I think if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit there just might be a slight chance that I am telling the truth, and if you don’t hear me out, you’re always going to wonder.”

She continued to glare at him, did not yield. “You flatter yourself to think I have that much regard for you,
monsieur
.”

Quietly, he used his last verbal weapon. “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid?” she echoed with a shrill laugh. “Of you? All I have to do is scream once, and the guards will come running. I’m surprised you were even able to sneak in here.”

“Not of me,” he said, “of yourself, your heart. Are you afraid to hear me out because you’re afraid to admit you care?”

She laughed once more, promptly dropped to the velvet bench at the end of the bed. She gave him a curt nod. “Go ahead. Talk. I’m sure this will be a very interesting lie, but at least you’ll see I’m not like your other women. I can be around you and not fall under your spell.”

He ignored her sarcasm, began to pace about the room, speaking quietly, in an almost hushed tone, as he proceeded to reveal the secrets of his past.

A half hour later, he finished with a ragged sigh. “That’s it, Dani, and I swear every word is true.”

He faced her then, for he’d avoided looking at her as he spoke, not wanting to see her contempt or ridicule lest it prevent him from confiding the true depth of agony in his heart.

“Can you believe me?” he asked.

He saw golden-brown eyes brimmed with tears.

Then, at last, she trusted herself to speak and held out her arms to him. “Yes, I can, Drake. Maybe I’m a fool, but I do believe you.”

Quickly he lifted her to her feet and drew her against him in a deep embrace that left them both shaken.

Huskily, he declared, “I’m never going to let you go again, Dani. I swear it.”

She laughed, softly, tenderly, then stood on tiptoe to kiss each cheek. “No, you won’t because I’m not going to let you.”

He continued to hold her, daring to further confide that, because of his mother, he’d mistrusted all women. “That’s why it took me so long to tell you about my past, Dani. I had to grow close to you.”

“I knew some of it. Cyril told me about your being banished from court due to some scandal with your family.” She shivered just to think of his anguish. “But he didn’t tell me just how terrible it was.”

“Cyril has the painting. I know it. Somehow he knew the story about Zigmont Koryatovich concealing a clue to the whereabouts of that egg somewhere in the painting. He figured I was after it, too, so he sent me that fake telegram to get me out of town in order for him to get his hands on it. He was betting that you’d blame me once you discovered the painting had been stolen, and he was right.”

“I’m sorry, Drake,” Dani whispered.

“How did you happen to be traveling here with him? I figured he’d show up in Saint Petersburg sooner or later, so I was having his place watched. That’s how I heard you were in Russia, but I couldn’t understand why.”

She explained how it had all come about, how she’d used Cyril to assure her access to society and the world of art in Saint Petersburg. “I knew he’d be in the middle of the social whirl, and even though, thanks to Poppa, Colt and I got invited to the Imperial Palace and the ballet, there’s very little else we would’ve been able to be a part of without Cyril. He’s furious with me now because this is the second night I’ve had an invitation that didn’t include him.”

Drakar told her not to feel pity. “I’m still having him watched. He’s seeing one of his old girlfriends and having a marvelous time.”

Dani was amazed that Cyril could stoop so low but conceded it would be quite valuable to his career to be the one to discover the secret of the painting, and, subsequently, the famous missing Fabergé egg.