My Own True Love (19 page)

This is probably just an act, she told herself, but it worked better than threats. Suddenly she wanted to help him. But she wasn't a thief. The ring needed her. Lewis needed her. She was in the wrong place in time and nobody understood what it was doing to her.

She slumped against Lewis. He kissed the nape of her neck. She was so torn with warring emotions she didn't know what she was going to do.

She turned in the circle of his arms. Lewis dropped his hands to his sides and looked silently at her, his stance tight-muscled and tense. His sharply drawn features were etched in darkness and bright moonlight.

She couldn't read his expression, but she felt herself drawn to stroke her fingertips across his wide cheek and down the sharp angle of his jaw.

Lewis waited. He'd finally realized the decision was Sara's to make. He couldn't force her and he couldn't beg her; he'd just have to wait until she made up her mind. If she couldn't do it, she couldn't.

He'd just have to find another way. When her hand touched his face it brought a comfort he hadn't realized he needed. She didn't have the hands of a soft English lady. Hers was an artist's hand, callused and clever. He loved the feel of it caressing his face. He sighed, frustration mixed with pleasure.

Sara took a step back. Lewis reached a hand toward her, hesitantly. She took off the ring and handed it to him. He made a soft, surprised sound as the ring touched his palm. "You'll have to do it. The two of you working together."

"But, Sara—" Lewis began.

"Chill out, Lewis," the ring told him, "I'm real. Just put me on and do what the woman says."

He could feel the powerful reality that radiated from the small jewel. Never mind that its reality sent the logical world spinning out of control, out of his life forever. It was real. Sara wasn't mad. Or a liar. Or a thief, though that was what he'd been trying to make her.

Lewis's hand shook so hard he didn't know how he managed to place the ring on his finger. The fit was perfect even though it had been circling Sara's much smaller finger only a moment before.

"A function of magic," the ring pointed out. "I fit whoever wears me."

Of course,
Lewis agreed with the voice ringing in his head. "Ringing," he said out loud, wry amusement sedating all his other roiling emotions. "What else would a ring do?"

Sara picked up her guitar. "We'd better hurry. Captain Custine said I go on at nine." She walked on, with Lewis following close on her heels. "How long do you think you'll need to find the brooch?"

Lewis had a feeling she was talking to the ring. "Can you find it?" he asked it.

"I can feel it from here. On the second floor, in the south wing, near the back of the house."

Lewis repeated the ring's words to Sara. "I'll find a back staircase from the kitchen," he added. "Most of the servants will be occupied with serving the banquet."

"So, what, ten minutes? An hour?"

He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as they reached a back courtyard between the stables and the servants' entrance. People moved around them purposefully in the light of torches set in tall stands in corners of the courtyard.

They were no longer alone, so he pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered confidently, "Play for the party. Enthrall them so that they don't notice the time passing."

"A diversion," she said. "I think I can do that much."

He had meant the words as a compliment to her playing, but he wasn't going to pass up the offer of any help if she was offering to keep the party occupied while he stole the brooch. He kissed her. "Thank you," he said. "Do what you can if there's anything you can do."

"Don't get caught," she ordered.

"I won't," he assured her.
I
hope,
he added to himself.

"Don't worry about it." The ring intruded on his thoughts. "Come on, let's go."

******************

A footman was waiting at the door. He looked Sara over boldly, and said, "The captain's entertainer's arrived at last. Hope you're expecting a lively night, slut." Sara considered slapping the lewd grin off the man's face, but decided discretion "was safer for getting Lewis and her through this crazy situation.

"My wife's come to play for the company," Lewis said in a low, cold voice.

The man gave Lewis a brief, disdainful look as he grabbed her by the arm. "Your pimp can wait here if he wants, but it's going to be a long night." He pushed Sara inside. "Don't worry about your fee,
tsigane,"
he added to Lewis before closing the door in his face, "your wife's pretty enough to earn you a fortune."

It took Lewis a precious instant to recover from the shock of the servant's insolent words. Then rage flooded him, turning the world red and driving all thought of the brooch out of his head. But when he would have pounded angrily on the door he found himself frozen in place. His limbs felt weighted down by bands of silver.

"Live with it, gypsy," the ring said coldly. "Or remember that you're not a gypsy and get on with your mission."

I
won't have them treating her like a whore!

"She can take care of herself. That's why I picked her for this job."

You picked
—
I
thought
I
picked
—
what is this job?
Sara had said the ring was manipulating them.

He no longer dismissed anything she'd said as insane ravings.

"We both want to get the brooch to Bororavia, Lieutenant," the ring said. "Let's just concentrate on that for now, shall we?"

Lewis sighed, and felt control of his muscles returned to him. The ring was right; there was much to do.
But I'll kill anyone who harms her,
he added as he looked around for a way into the chateau.

"Fine," the ring said. "I'll be happy to help you. There's a kitchen maid coming this way from the dairy.

Try exerting a little of that Morgan charm on her to get us into the kitchen."

A pretty girl came hurrying toward him a moment later. Lewis didn't bother asking the ring how it had known the girl was coming; he just fell back into his role between one breath and the next. He moved to intercept her without hesitation, summoning up a boyish smile to turn on what looked like an overworked child. Within minutes he had in his helpful hands the heavy bucket she was carrying. It took only a few more coaxing words before she'd invited him into the buttery to keep her company while she went about her work. Keeping her company proved taking more time offering kisses and compliments than he liked, but she wasn't one to be rushed. She had to hide him from the butler when he came in and fussed at her about the quality of the cream. Eventually she went off to the kitchen to fetch her hungry new friend a bowl of potage. He followed the ring's directions to the back stairs as soon as the girl was out of sight.

******************

"You were magnificent,'' Captain Custine told Sara as he took the guitar from her hands. He handed the instrument to a footman and drew her up off the chair where she was sitting.

They were standing near a gigantic fireplace in the rear of the huge dining room. She'd been sitting on a spindly little chair with her back to the roaring fire. The diners sat at a long table covered in scarlet cloth beneath a row of ornate crystal chandeliers. Everything in the room was red and gold, and bright and glittering and larger than life. Sara felt dwarfed and intimidated by everything around her. Even Captain Custine was red and gold, including his red hair and the gold buttons on his scarlet coat.

Sara looked around his broad form to the rest of her audience. She'd played through three long courses while the guests chattered to each other and the servants moved silently around her. Her hands and arms were aching from the effort and sweat was gathered on her back and between her breasts.

She'd played everything from Hungarian folk ballads to L.A. Guns, but no one paid any heed to her at all, then or now, as Custine led her through the room and out a tall glass-paned door into a garden.

All she wanted was to get her guitar back and get away from the chateau. It didn't look as if there were anything she could do to help Lewis and the ring. She hoped they'd already gotten the brooch and gone. How long would it take for Custine to notice a jewel robbery? Her mind was full of questions as the captain urged her down on a marble bench. Would the Rom performers be suspected immediately?

Would they be chased? Arrested? What would happen if they found out Lewis was a British spy? Stupid question. He'd be executed, of course. The rest of the caravan would probably be executed for harboring him. She scarcely noticed Custine's arm going around her shoulders.

His kiss came as a genuine surprise. His mustache was soft as silk, but the mouth that covered hers was harshly demanding. His tongue sought entrance and she opened her lips rather than try to fight him off. She felt nothing as he probed and explored; she just closed her eyes and wondered if she'd get a chance to tell him diplomatically that she wasn't interested, or punch him in the groin if it became necessary.

Eventually he lifted his head and told her, "You're delicious. I knew you would be."

She put her hand on his chest when he bent to kiss her again. "But I'm married," she reminded him.

"As am I. Shall I take you to Paris?" he asked. "Set you up in a little house? Introduce you to the theater owners?" He stroked her shoulders, baring them as he eased down the material of her sleeves.

"Your skin's like dark honey, you exotic little creature."

She didn't mind the exotic, but the creature part made her want to hit him. "You want me to be your mistress," she guessed.

His hands drifted down to cover her breasts. He weighed them in his palms while he spoke. "I wanted you when I first saw you in that filthy little inn. A pity I didn't have time to woo you properly then. Isn't it lucky we met again?"

"I don't think luck had anything to do with it." She grasped his wrists and tried to push his hands away.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Captain Custine."

"Not private enough for you? You're shy," he said with a smile. "I liked that from the first. Except when you play. I watched you put your soul into your playing and knew I wanted to see you look at me like that when I made love to you. I love watching you play. I want to watch from an audience and know I'm the one taking you to bed after the crowd has gone wild. How they'll envy me."

She was really beginning to want to tell him just what he could do with his plans for her future. This turkey made Lewis look good by comparison. Where was Lewis, anyway? She hoped he'd gotten away.

"Uh, thank you," she said, since Custine seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Do you want to be famous?" he asked. "I can help you conquer the Paris stage."

"First Paris and then the world?" she asked.

"Of course." He smirked and preeningly stroked his mustache.

Sara thought a little simpering might be in order while she tried to think of a safe way to get away from him. "You French do seem to be good at conquering things."

"The world is ours for the taking, little one."

You 're going to deserve Euro-Disney,
she thought maliciously. He drew her to him and kissed her again. While she ignored the forceful exploration of her mouth it occurred to her that in a future life Custine was probably going to be incarnated as Joe Malkos, the guy she'd dated through high school and most of college, who had dumped her to marry an aerobics instructor he'd gotten pregnant. She'd been more relieved than upset, even if the experience had soured her enough to turn her into a guitar-playing couch potato who watched more television than was good for her.

While her mind replayed scenes from her life in the future, he urged her to her feet, still kissing her. He lifted his head and said, "Shall I carry you to my room?"

"I can walk," Sara answered, then realized her words implied a consent she certainly didn't mean.

"But, I—"

The big man swung her up in his arms. "Such a tiny thing you are," he murmured. Sara would have struggled, but he turned toward the house and dropped her back to her feet before taking a step. "What's that?" he asked, looking up toward a second-story window.

Sara saw it too, brief flashes of light behind the curtains, one red, one orange. They touched, then flared to impossibly white brightness, strobed, then vanished. Something wonderful and right had just happened. Sara felt the pleasure of the lights' reunion down to her bones. It set her shuddering with delight. She wanted to throw her head back and laugh with joy.

"What the devil was that?" Custine demanded worriedly. "Don't be afraid," he added, stroking her face.

He must have felt her shaking; he obviously hadn't experienced the emotional rush accompanying the light show. It was the ring, she knew. Even if she wasn't wearing it she was still linked to it. Lewis must be up in that room. She wondered if the emotional backwash was stronger closer to the source. Was Lewis passed out on the floor with a deliriously happy smile on his face?

"I'd better go see what that was," Custine said. "Wait here." He began to stride manfully away.

Sara jumped after him in panic. "Wait! Don't go!" She grabbed his arm. She had to keep the man from finding Lewis. She'd promised Lewis a diversion and she had to come through for him somehow.

Custine swiveled around and grabbed her arms. When he started to thrust her away she grabbed the decorated front of his coat and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him, with enough simulated passion to drive the idea of investigating anything but her out of his head. She pressed herself against him, grinding her hips suggestively against him. It was only moments before he'd taken her in a tight, possessive embrace.

"Don't leave me alone," she whispered seductively. "You promised to take me to your room."

"Very well," he agreed. "It must have been no more than a dropped lantern. Come, we'll make our own fire."

He grinned and she felt his hardness pressing against her thigh. Oh, dear, she thought as he hurried her back into the house. He swung her into his arms again and carried her up a dark staircase, Rhett Butler style.