Texas Viscount (17 page)

      
Then she heard a woman's voice call out, and all three men stopped as a carriage pulled up beside them and another foreign-looking man jumped to the cobblestones. A black-haired woman stepped down. Joshua Cantrell's gallantry in helping her alight was faultless. Her beauty was unmistakable, even from this distance.

      
She was the prima ballerina Natasha Samsonov.

Chapter Eight

      
Hell, what do I do now?
Josh kissed La Samsonov's hand, which she had extended to him as if she were Catherine the Great and he a serf being offered the highest honor imaginable. She had to be the key to the leak of information from the Foreign Office, and he knew he could not pass up the opportunity to see what he could learn from her. But he could also see Sabrina from the corner of his eye glaring daggers at him.

      
“So, you are the wild
Americain
from Texas,” Natasha said with a thick French accent. Without giving him warning, a pair of slender gloved hands pulled open his jacket to reveal his Colt Lightning in a shoulder sling.

      
Alexi burst into raucous laughter and Sergei scowled, but her brother Nikolai merely sneered down his long blade of a nose as if his sister's antics bored him.

      
“It is so! You do carry a six-killer,” she exclaimed.

      
“It's a six-shooter, ma'am,” he corrected her. “Made in America by ole Sam Colt.” Josh was unnerved by the unnatural brightness of her cold black eyes. The idea of his being armed excited her—that and, he imagined, the simple fact that he was a foreigner from an exotic land.

      
“I have heard about your first day here in London, my lord Texas Viscount. After you watch me dance, we must drink good vodka and you may tell me all about this Texas.”

      
“I don't much favor vodka. How about I bring some real Texas whiskey for you to try?” he replied with his most disarming grin.

      
She cocked her head as if considering, letting her gaze once more sweep over him from head to toe in that disconcertingly blatant sexual appraisal while the Russian men observed. Apparently they were used to her behavior, but Josh was not. Even the most brazen harlots he'd met in cattle towns from Texas to the Dakotas were downright reserved compared to this imperious female. She would be no one to fool with. But he had a job to do. He'd promised the colonel.

      
“Come to my dressing room after the performance,” she commanded and started to turn toward the side door where the performers entered.

      
“I regret I can't do that, ma'am,” he drawled.

      
She turned, a look of disbelief on her beautiful face. The prima ballerina was not accustomed to being turned down. Josh smiled apologetically. “I have a lady with me and I'll have to see her home first. How about meeting at the White Satin after?”

      
A tiny smirk moved across her lips. “Very well. Bring your
Americain
whiskey and I shall taste it.”

      
With that she swished away in a trail of gardenia perfume, Nikolai following behind her. Alexi and his companion Sergei congratulated Josh on piquing La Samsonov's interest. Somehow Josh didn't feel particularly lucky in that regard, especially when he drew near the spot where Sabrina waited. Quickly he made his excuses to the two Russians, who cast sultry gazes in Miss Edgewater's direction. Lordy, all he needed was to have her brain one of them with that little bitty beaded purse of hers and he'd be in a real pickle.

      
“You gave me to believe that you were not an admirer of ‘toe dancers,’ Lord Wesley,” she said coolly as he drew near.

      
“Never claimed to be. More like the toe dancer's an admirer of Texans. Kinda surprised me. I only met her once a while back. Don't much care for her, though. A dangerous female. Reminds me of a hungry cougar,” he said lightly as he tucked Sabrina's hand on his arm and escorted her inside the theater.

      
Somehow she intuited that his light words concealed some deeper meaning. “How did you meet those Russian gentlemen?” she asked.

      
“Oh, a friendly game of cards. One thing led to another and they took me to a drinking establishment a lady like you wouldn't know about”

      
“I should hope not,” she murmured beneath her breath. The theater was lavishly appointed with royal-blue velvet curtains, Turkish carpeting in rich blue and maroon shades and an enormous crystal chandelier that filled the lobby with glittering light. Wealthy patrons dressed in silks and jewels laughed and chatted gaily, but the magic of her first trip to the ballet was gone. Stolen by the star of the performance...who had ensnared her Texan.

      
Her
Texan?

      
Sabrina gave herself a mental shake. What on earth made her think of him as hers, for goodness sake?

      
The viscount seated her in the Hambleton box and took her wrap, laying it over the back of her chair.

      
“Very proper, my lord,” she said politely. She could not help the icicles dripping from her voice.

      
Brrr
. He could tell by her tone and the stiffness of her posture that she was jealous. He could not help but be pleased by the reaction. Of course, he had to meet with the prima donna tonight, and that wouldn't help his pursuit of Sabrina. “You sound colder than a blue norther sweeping down the Panhandle,” he whispered in her ear, letting his breath caress the delicate lobe.

      
The warmth spread from her ear all the way to her toes, but Sabrina refused to give the rogue the satisfaction of detecting any reaction. Mercifully, the curtain rose on the first act of Swan Lake and Tchaikovsky's marvelous music filled the huge theater. She ignored her companion and concentrated on the stage.

* * * *

      
Wilfred Hodgins arranged the papers on Lord Hambleton's desk with his usual precise efficiency. He had served the old earl for nearly two decades and knew exactly how everything should be done. That young pup Edmund Whistledown did not have the faintest aptitude for the work. Irritated, Hodgins checked the tall case clock in the corner of the room. As usual, the boy was late. It was after eight in the evening. His simple errand should not have taken more than an hour, and he'd been dispatched well before five.

      
“I take it Mr. Whistledown is tardy once again,” the earl said as he entered his office.

      
“Do you wish me to discharge him, my lord?” Hodgins asked without betraying any eagerness in his carefully measured tone.

      
Just then a light tap sounded on the office door. At the earl's summons, Edmund entered, looking flushed and breathless. “My sincerest apologies for taking so long, Lord Hambleton, but there was a hackney accident on the bridge and all traffic was blocked. I did deliver the papers to Mr. Whitney just as I was instructed,” he added eagerly.

      
Hambleton found it painful to watch the nervous youth shuffle from one foot to the other, like an overeager puppy trying desperately to please. He waved the lad away, saying, “As long as Lord Ashcroft's secretary has the trade agreement in hand before the marquess leaves for his grouse shoot, there's no harm done.”

      
“You'll need to collect the signed documents on the morrow. Be here at nine sharp for any additional errands,” Hodgins added as the young man backed awkwardly toward the door.

      
“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

      
“Need you be so hard on the boy, Hodgins?” the earl asked with a wry smile. “It would seem that I remember your being late a time or two when you started working for me back in...”

      
“That would be 1882, my lord...and it was only once. The day I broke my leg.”

      
Hambleton cleared his throat, suppressing a chuckle. “Yes, I believe you're right. Ah, Hodgins, the first thing to deteriorate in advanced age is certainly not the mind, but 'tis a sad thing when it does nonetheless.”

      
“Nonsense. You are every bit as keenly intelligent as you were the day I met you, my lord,” Hodgins protested.

      
“Let us hope you are correct. Now, down to business. Lansdowne has asked that all those working on the Japanese matter meet with him tonight. I should have a draft of the alliance when I return. It will require some close study...”

      
Outside the door, Edmund stood, trembling as he pulled the crumpled note from his coat pocket and reread it once again. Pray heaven he could keep this position, else he'd be dead by the end of the week.

* * * *

      
The White Satin was crowded by the time Josh arrived. It had taken him an extra hour to see Sabrina home first. He had not attempted to soothe her ruffled feathers by making up excuses for leaving her off directly after the ballet. She was far too clever and would have guessed that he was meeting the beauteous Natasha. Instead, he had offered to take her for a long ride in the country in the Mercedes. Of course, she'd refused, saying it was highly improper for a lady and a gentleman who were not blood kin or affianced to be alone in the middle of nowhere late at night.

      
He'd acted disappointed and tried to steal a kiss when they reached her apartment, but she'd bested him. Her elderly landlady sat waiting at the door. He would have bet his best cutting horse that Sabrina had asked her to do precisely that. Their good nights had been brief and proper.

      
As he entered the smoky dark club, he smiled to himself. If she had to trust old women to stand watch over her virtue, the proper Miss Edgewater must not trust herself. Tomorrow, maybe he would invite her for a horseback ride through Hyde Park. What could be more decorous than that?

      
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud rhythmic burst of clapping that erupted near the back of the large room. A circle about a dozen feet in diameter had been cleared and five men stood inside it facing each other with tall glasses of vodka tilted to their mouths, drinking as fast as they could. Alexi won the contest, polishing off his drink before any of the others. As onlookers and participants slapped him on the back in congratulation, it was apparent this drink was far from his first of the night.

      
When he spotted the tall American moving through the crowd, the champion called out, “Josua, m-my fren, come join ush!”

      
Wonderful. Josh could still remember how his head had ached after their last drinking session. At least this time he'd come armed with some good bourbon. Josh scanned the room for the prima ballerina, who was conspicuously absent. “ ‘Pears to me you've already proved you're the baddest Cossack on the steppes, Alexi,” he said dryly as his companion enveloped him in a fulsome bear hug.

      
The icy blond Sergei Valerian laughed drunkenly. “Are you afraid to stand up with us?”

      
“Nope. I'd be more afraid of falling down with you about now. You fellows have a good running start on the evening, and it's not even midnight,” Josh replied in jocular fashion.

      
“He's English. How could he hold his liquor?” Nikolai Zarenko sneered, coming up behind Josh.

      
“By act of Parliament I'm a peer of this realm, but by birth I'm a Texan. Nothing'll ever change that,” Josh replied, seeing no sign of his antagonist's sister.
Damned if I'll get in a brawl for no cussed reason.
“I brought some real sipping whiskey. Instead of drinking fast, why not taste what we swallow?” he said with a big smile. “It's the custom back in America.”

      
“Yesh, custom of t-th country,” Alexi slurred, eyeing the bottle of golden liquid his friend was holding up.

      
“First we'd better sit down,” Josh said, carefully assisting Alexi to a large table near the back of the room.

      
He poured shots all around and passed them to the Russians. All but Alexi eyed the colored liquor with its distinctive perfume suspiciously. Josh lifted his glass and took a sip, then smacked his lips in appreciation. Alexi gulped the whole thing at once. A good thing Josh had more than one bottle stashed in his Mercedes outside. He had a feeling he'd need them all before this evening was over.

      
“You drink like a woman,” Nikolai said, placing his glass on the polished oak table with a loud thud.

      
Alexi hiccupped. “Unlesh tha woman's your s-sis'er.”

      
Josh met Zarenko's cold dark eyes and took his measure. For some reason, the Russian was spoiling for a fight. Was his sister's attraction to Josh the reason? He gauged the reaction around the table. Three of their crew were already nodding off. Everyone alert enough to follow the conversation waited with avidly glowing eyes to see how the wild Texan would respond. No help for it. A fight.