Scent of Triumph (51 page)

* * *

Later that evening, Abigail and Lou insisted that Danielle and her family join the Newell-Greys and the Leibowitzes for an elegant New Year’s Eve dinner, after which Danielle and Jon, with Marie and the girls, returned to the Savoy. Marie retired with Jasmin and Liliana, while Danielle and Jon stayed up to welcome the New Year.

When Danielle and Jon opened the door to his suite, a crackling fire and a midnight treat of champagne, caviar, and lox greeted them in the sitting room.

“Hmm, Veuve Clicquot, my favorite. Named after the widow Clicquot.”

Jon smiled warmly at her. “And like you, she took the helm of the family business and charted a successful course.”

Danielle cast an appreciative glance his way.
This is why I love this man.
Not many people understood this side of her. “I like a man who knows his history, especially about the historically rare female entrepreneur.”

“And I admire women like you who are changing that history.”

Danielle slipped off her sable coat and crossed to the fireplace, warming her hands. “What a beautiful surprise this is.”

“Not as beautiful as you, my darling,” Jon said, joining her by the fireplace. He slid a finger under her chin and kissed her. “You know you’re the only woman I’ve ever really loved.” He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her again with a passion that warmed her to her very core.

They settled on the sofa in front of the fire, and Jon began to open the champagne. The cork quickly exploded from the bottle and rocketed against a lampshade. They laughed and, with a flourish, Jon poured the pale golden liquid into two crystal flutes.

“Here’s to the beginning of the rest of our lives,” he murmured, lifting his glass.

“
Salut
, my darling.” She clinked his glass. “To the best years of our lives.”

He kissed her again, then drew away and slipped a hand into his pocket. “There’s something I’ve wanted you to have for a long, long time. Close your eyes.”

Danielle obeyed, wondering what he’d been up to. She heard a snap prick the silence.

“You can open them now.”

In his hands sparkled a fiery emerald so clear and bright and
familiar
that she caught her breath.
But how can this be?

Jon took her right hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. “Abigail told me you’d sold your wedding ring to fund your business. Max once said the ring had been Sofia’s, it had been in her family for years. I knew how much you loved and admired her. I thought you might like to wear it again in her honor.”

“I can hardly believe it.” Danielle blinked at the ring, touching it with reverence. “But how did you find it?”

“It wasn’t easy.” He chuckled. “I rang up a jeweler I know in Los Angeles and told him I was looking for a large Victorian-style emerald ring, one that I thought had been sold in recent years. I also had a photo from the ship when we first met and you were wearing the ring. So I sent the picture to him. A few months later, my man came through and I bought it straight away. I wasn’t sure when I’d give it to you, but I knew that someday, when the time was right, I would.”

Her eyes brimmed with happiness. “How incredibly thoughtful of you. It’s all I have left of Sofia, except for my memories.” With a trembling hand, she ran her fingers across the magnificent emerald, remembering Sofia...and Max and Nicky. Her past. She raised her eyes to Jon. He was her future, and she reached up to kiss him.

Jon kissed her back, then said, “There’s something else, too. In case you thought I had an engagement ring for you, I’d hate for you to be disappointed.”

He brought out a small suede pouch and took out an intricate filigreed ring encrusted with diamonds, which surrounded a breathtaking center diamond. He held it poised before the third finger of her left hand. “And this one is for us and for our future together. Will you wear this one for me, as my wife?”

Danielle hesitated, fully aware of the enormity of such a pledge. She knew in her heart that unlike her naïveté in marrying Max, or her hasty error in judgment in marrying Cameron, her marriage to Jon was a mature choice. He was a man of integrity, but more than that, she loved him as she had never loved before.

She gave a small sigh.
Would this be enough?

Jon’s expectant face glowed in the flickering firelight, his eyes urging her acceptance.

“I will,” she said solemnly, then threw her arms around him.

“At last, it’s official.” Jon stood and held out his hand, his face flush with desire. She placed her hand in his and rose, and with one easy motion, he swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, placing her softly on the bed. As they made love, their passion soared to new heights and deepened with intensity, and they enjoyed the feel of one another’s body until the darkest hours before dawn.

At last, Danielle lay sated in the crook of Jon’s arm, her hair fanned across the pillow, reveling in his love. His skin smelled of the same scent he always wore, though now it mingled with the musky aroma of passion. She smiled and made a mental note to herself to blend something special just for him to capture this moment. She closed her eyes, deep in thought...she couldn’t wait to return to her perfumer’s organ. She wanted to remember this perfect moment forever.

Jon trailed his fingers along her arm, breaking her reverie. “Know what I’d like?”

“Hmm, I can imagine,” she said, stroking his chest. She could hear the happiness in his voice, and knew without looking that he was smiling.

“Once we’re married, I’d love to make a beautiful baby with you. I adore your girls, but I’ve always wanted to have a son, too.”

Suddenly, Danielle stiffened.
A son.
Her body jerked at the thought. She and Cameron had fought bitterly over her refusal to have his child.

Guilt gathered in the pit of her stomach.
But this would be Jon’s son....
Feeling suddenly nauseous, she turned her face from Jon and bit her lip.

It felt as if he had asked her to abandon her memory of Nicky.

An overwhelming thought gripped her.
I cannot do this.
She drew up her knees and rolled onto her side, away from Jon. “It’s late, I should be going,” she said, fighting the putrid bile of panic and fear and regret that rose in her throat. She rose and began to dress.

“Danielle, what’s wrong?” Jon raised himself on an elbow, sounding sleepy and confused. “Whatever I said, darling, let’s talk about it.”

A few moments later, he heard the soft click of the door to the room. When he turned the lamp light on, he saw that she had left the engagement ring on his pillow.

“Danielle, come in.” Nathan Newell-Grey motioned for her to enter his spacious, nautical-styled study. His reserved tone was even-keeled, and Danielle could not read him. That morning he’d telephoned and asked to speak privately with her before she left London, but he wouldn’t say why. She glanced around, hoping Jon wasn’t there. She hadn’t taken his repeated calls.
It’s better this way,
she decided.
I’ll soon be gone.

“Please have a seat.” Nathan settled his trim figure behind an impressive teakwood desk. Behind him, an imposing ship’s wheel was mounted on the wall. Danielle sat in a burgundy leather chair across from him. The chair was comfortably worn, and held the faint aroma of the Trumper scent Jon often wore. Though it unsettled her, Danielle sniffed, and cleared her throat. “What did you want to see me about?”

Nathan made a V-shape with his fingers and considered her for a moment. “Ugly business, that with Victoria.”

He gets right to the point,
Danielle thought. She arranged a pleasant smile on her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. All of London knows that Gregory Gordon is baby Catherine’s real father.” He shook his head with disgust. “The temerity of that woman. My wife, too. Harriet pushed Jonathan into that marriage. Wouldn’t let him rest until he had married Victoria.” He picked up a cigar and clipped the end of it with a gold implement. “I tried to discourage it, but it got away from me, what with the war and all.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you in love with Jon?”

Nervously, she licked her lips. “I don’t break up marriages, sir.”

“No, I don’t believe you’re like that, are you?” He leaned forward. “Well, Jon’s smart. Life is too damned hard, excuse the expression, to worry about what people think of you. Remember that,” he said, punctuating his words with the cigar. He lifted a brow. “Abigail tells me you’ve done well for yourself in America.”

“That’s true, sir.” She shifted in her chair.

Nathan stroked his neat grey beard. “I must admit, I like you, and I admire your courage. Fire in the belly, I’d venture to say. You’d be good for my son, and you’d rear the right sort of children to one day run Newell-Grey interests.” He stopped and apprised her. “I might even say you could run it yourself, should the need ever arise.”

Danielle drew a calming breath and met his gaze. “I’m honored, but I doubt if I’ll ever have the pleasure. I’m not seeing Jon, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not why I wanted to see you today.” Nathan fiddled with a silver lighter, adjusted the flame, then put it down.

“Why don’t you just light it?”

Nathan looked surprised. “You don’t mind if I smoke?”

“I’ve always loved the aroma of a good cigar.”

“You’re a rare woman, indeed.” Nathan picked up his cigar and, with a few puffs, lit it.

Danielle watched the lazy plume of smoke encircle his head, relieved to be off the subject of Jon. She sniffed the air.
A fine cigar...Cuban,
she noted, absently thinking of the various brands and pegging it. She nodded her approval.

Nathan tapped an ash. Just then, a knock sounded at the door and Herb Leibowitz pushed it open.

Nathan stood to greet his old friend. They shook hands and Herb settled in the chair next to Danielle. “Herb, we were just getting started.”

“Good,” Herb said, then turned to Danielle. “Libby sends her love,” he added.

“Thank you,” Danielle replied. “Now gentlemen, what’s the real reason you’ve called me here?”

The two men traded looks, and Herb nodded curtly to Nathan. “I’ll begin, please,” Herb said, his Eastern European accent still evident. “First we talk about Max.”

At the mention of his name, Danielle felt pangs of grief and regret for the path Max had chosen at the behest of Herb Leibowitz, Nathan Newell-Grey, and the British government. At the time, it had been the only way he could return home to search for Nicky and Sofia. But in the end, his efforts were futile, and the result, disastrous. Danielle lowered her eyes.

“We don’t mean to distress you,” Herb said, “but the British government realizes Max has never been properly recognized for his military efforts.”

Nathan leaned forward. “The intelligence he gathered saved the lives of several operatives we had in Germany and helped us throughout the war. He should be commended.”

Danielle said quietly, “He didn’t really have a choice in the matter, did he?”

“Those were difficult times,” Herb said, his eyes kind beneath his bushy grey brows and wire rimmed spectacles. “But Max was a brave man and he expressed a willing desire to go.”

Nathan went on. “Max is to receive a high honor from the British government. We hope you’ll accept it on his behalf.”

Danielle nodded, momentarily overcome. “I’d be honored, and I’m sure Max would have been, too. Thank you, gentleman, for your thoughtfulness.”

“Good, it’s settled then,” Nathan said. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he stared at Danielle. “Would you care for a cognac or sherry, my dear?”

“No,” she said, rising from her chair, anxious to leave before Jon materialized. “If that’s all, I really must go now.”

“Sit, sit. There’s another matter, too.” Herb reached for his briefcase and withdrew a folder.

While Herb organized his notes, Nathan crossed to a drinks cart and poured two glasses of sherry. He returned to his desk and handed Herb a glass, then sat and turned to Danielle, his expression grim. “We need to talk about Heinrich von Hoffman.”

Danielle tensed at the mention of Max’s cousin. She remembered the last time she’d seen Heinrich...his twisted, menacing face and the cruel words that still rang in her ears:
I killed them, Danielle. I did it, I shot them both. Through the heart.
Danielle folded her arms across her chest. “He’s a traitor and murderer. What more is there to say?”

Herb threw a swift look at Nathan.

“He betrayed Max and killed my mother-in-law, and–” Danielle dug her fingernails into her balled fists and fought to keep her anger in check. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever know what he did to my little boy.”

“We are well aware of his crimes,” Nathan said, nodding.

“And he will pay for all of them,” Herb added. “Heinrich has been detained and will soon be brought up on charges for war crimes and crimes against humanity, according to the terms of the London Agreement.”

Danielle looked from one man to the other. “He’s been arrested?”

“That’s right.” Nathan took a drink. “Soon he’ll go before the International Military Tribunal.”

“In Nuremberg?” Danielle could hardly believe their words.

“He’s there now,” Herb said. “Awaiting trial.”

A feeling of cold satisfaction spread within her. “I’ll have that sherry now,” she said quietly.

Nathan quickly complied. He poured a glass for her, then went on. “It’s grave news, Danielle, but we thought you should know.” He handed her the sherry. “We’ve confirmed that Heinrich arranged Max’s assassination.”

Danielle took a drink. “I thought as much.”

“And you are correct that he murdered Sofia von Hoffman. Several witnesses confirmed he shot her.”

So, Heinrich told me the truth
. Danielle closed her eyes and imagined how Sofia might have died, her last moments at the hands of Heinrich. She shuddered and pressed her hand to her mouth. After a moment, she raised the glass to her lips and drank. “And Nicky?” she managed to say.

“Nicky escaped with Jacob Warshawski and his wife and children.” Nathan coughed into his hand. “But Jacob and his family were executed in Auschwitz.”