What Wild Moonlight (17 page)

“Really? How very gallant of him.”

“You would do well to model yourself after Jeremy Cooke,” she retorted. “I found him to be a perfect gentleman.”

Nicholas gave a sharp laugh. “God, I can’t imagine anyone more dull to emulate.”

“Why did you cut off the funding for his research?”

“Because it was a waste of time and funds for everyone concerned.”

“You don’t believe in science?”

“Yes, but not charity. If Cooke spent as much time working on his estate, rather than letting it fall down around his head, as he does begging for funds—”

“A scholar seeking patrons is hardly begging for funds.”

Nicholas took a deep breath. “Can you tell me why we’re having this idiotic debate?”

She studied him for a moment in surprise. “No, I can’t,” she said; then her lips curved in a slow, wavering smile. “That’s not entirely true. I don’t suppose there’s a woman in the world who reacts well to being told she is completely unsuitable as a mistress—even when it is nothing but a ruse. If I reacted poorly, it was because my pride was wounded. It was foolish on my part.”

Amazed at her candor, he replied gently, “Then you misunderstood me. You suit me too well, little gypsy. That’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t protect you. Seeing you alone with Philip Montrose only underscored that fact.”

“But I wasn’t alone. Jeremy Cooke was with us the entire time.”

“That doesn’t signify,” he said, dismissing her objection immediately. He thought for a moment, then asked, “Were you able to get close enough to Montrose to check to see if he held the scroll somewhere on his person?”

She arched one dark brow in wry amusement. “This was hardly the occasion for me to do so. I couldn’t ask him to dance right there atop a windswept cliff, could I?”

“No, I suppose not,” he concurred. He raked his fingers through his hair and turned away from her, staring blankly out over the sea.

“What is it?” she asked.

He shook his head, unable to define the restless impatience that suddenly consumed him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was acting like a pawn in someone else’s game. That the person who had the scroll was watching every move he made, and laughing. He felt as impotent as a caged animal pacing back and forth on display before the crowds in London’s zoo.

When he had accompanied Katya to the Duke of Westerly’s, he had positioned himself so that he could watch her every move. Today he had not been able to do so, and it had bothered him far more than he would have suspected. If they continued on the course they had set, there would be more moments when she would be alone with Montrose and others like him. More moments in which she would be entirely vulnerable. Perhaps no harm would come to her. Perhaps she would find the scroll and he would be able to clear his name. Perhaps everything would be all right.

Or perhaps the person who had killed Allyson would make Katya his next victim.

On the heels of that sobering thought came the stark realization of what the proper course of action should be: send her away and search for the scroll alone. It was an honorable solution, but one that was highly impractical. Given Katya’s talents at sleight of hand, she was far better suited to the task than he. And now that he had presented her to society at large as his mistress, it served both their interests to continue their pretense. But beneath this rationale lurked a purely selfish motive as well—a desire to keep her entirely to himself. His whimsical little gypsy pleased him far more than he ever would have guessed.

“You may consider me duly warned,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “If you can’t protect me, I suppose I shall simply have to protect myself. Fortunately I’m twenty-three years old, so the task is not entirely unknown to me.”

Pushing away his bleak worries, he turned back to her, forcing himself to match her breezy tone. “Twenty-three?” he echoed. “I had no idea you were so ancient.”

“Indeed. Practically decrepit.”

“On the shelf.”

A thoughtful silence fell between them as they studied each other in wary hesitation, as though taking new measure. Her smile faded slightly and a somber light entered her eyes. “We seem to be forever at odds, don’t we?”

He studied her in surprise. “Does it feel that way to you?”

“Generally, yes.” She thought for a moment, then suggested, “Perhaps it’s because we’re trying to appear intimate when we really know so little about each other. I imagine that this would put a strain on anyone.”

“I imagine so,” he agreed, although he hadn’t considered it at all. In truth, the thought that a man and a woman might need to know anything about each other in order to be physically intimate was rather astounding to him. He considered his relationship with Allyson Whitney. He had enjoyed her beauty, her style, and her expertise in bed. She, in turn, had enjoyed his company and his wealth. Allyson had spent her nights in bed with him and her days making the rounds of various milliners, couturiers, jewelers, and seamstresses, selecting a wide assortment of items she “simply could not live without” and sending the bills to him.

Although their relationship had seemed perfectly acceptable at the time, he could not imagine Katya falling into a similar role.

“What do you suggest we do to alleviate this strain?” he inquired.

“There’s an old gypsy custom that says if you want to make an enemy your friend for life, you must trade secrets. That way you’ll always have something to hold over the other.”

A sardonic smile curved his lips. “How touching. A friendship based on fear, mistrust, and the ever-present threat of extortion.”

“Are you saying you won’t give it a try?” she retorted, a distinct glimmer of challenge in her eyes.

“Not at all. I have no doubt that is the basis for some of mankind’s most enduring relationships.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the parapet wall, giving her a polite nod. “Ladies first.”

She thought for a moment, then an impish smile curved her lips. “I stole a lion when I was five years old.”

Nicholas smiled. “Very impressive. I presume, however, that you mean a specimen from a taxidermist.”

“No. A real lion,” she insisted At his dubious look, she admitted reluctantly, “Well, a three-day-old lion cub. My family was traveling with a circus troupe when the cub was born, and I decided he’d make the perfect pet. Unfortunately my parents didn’t see things the same way—nor did the mother of the cub. I was forced to give him back.”

She sent him a bright smile and announced, “Now it’s your turn. I want to hear a secret of yours.”

He mentally reviewed the dark skeletons of his past, searching for something to share. He had secrets; far too many of them. But none that were suitable for her to hear. Finally he said, “I dislike long carriage rides.”

Her lips pulled down in a disappointed frown. “Surely you can do better than that.”

He lifted his shoulders in a resolute shrug. “It appears that my life is far less extraordinary than your own.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“It’s true.”

“Very well. You leave me no choice but to discover a secret or two by myself.” She stretched one thin, delicate arm in his direction. With the cool demeanor of a royal princess, she demanded imperiously, “Your palm, Lord Barrington.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of nonsense.”

“I am not above resorting to desperate measures when the situation calls for it. As it happens, my mother was highly skilled in the art of palmistry. I may not have inherited her consummate talent, but I should be able to discern a thing or two.”

The whole idea struck Nicholas as utter nonsense, but he complied nevertheless, if for no other reason than to bridge the physical distance between them.

“I trust you will share whatever dire fate you find there,” he said.

“Certainly.”

She took his large hand in her smaller one and turned it this way and that, gently poking and prodding, tracing with her forefinger the lines that traversed his palm. A frown of intense concentration marked her features.

“You shall live a long life and never want for any material goods,” she began slowly, in what he thought was disappointingly standard fortune-teller rote. “You were close to your mother,” she said, “but you lost her at an early age. Your father was quite domineering, almost brutal at times. Your relationship with him was formal and rather strained. Even so, he had a tremendous impact on your life.”

Better, but not significant. She had probably learned that from the Comtesse or one of the household servants.

“You have an innate appreciation for objects of beauty,” she continued. “You are not easily touched emotionally, but once your feelings are affected they run deep. You are profoundly loyal and set high standards for both yourself and others.” She turned his hand toward him and pointed toward a deep groove that ran diagonally across his palm. “Do you see this line?” she asked, a note of excitement in her voice. “That’s the line of fate. As you can see, it crosses all areas of your life.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Of course. That’s extremely significant,” she informed him gravely. “That means that destiny is intervening in your life—events are unfolding around you that have been fated to occur from the moment of your birth.”

“I see,” he replied, striving to match her somber tone.

He watched her as she searched his palm, feeling almost disappointed. For some reason he had expected to hear something unique from her, but obviously he had given her far more credit than was reasonable. Fortune-tellers were known for telling a person whatever he or she wanted to hear. Women who were unmarried were told they would soon discover true love. Men who were poor were assured they would find riches. The sick and crippled were given false promises of a speedy recovery. Clearly Katya was no different from anyone else who practiced the absurd art of palmistry.

But no sooner had that thought crossed his mind when her intent expression abruptly changed. A look of dark understanding and genuine dismay crossed her features. She let his palm drop and moved slightly away from him. Forcing a strained smile, she said, “That’s all I see. As I told you, I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

Nicholas studied her curiously. Although he didn’t possess any faith in palmistry, Katya obviously did. And whatever she had seen in his hand had upset her. He lightly placed his finger under her chin and drew her gaze up to meet his. “As I recall, we had a bargain,” he reminded her. “You promised to tell me everything you read in my palm, no matter how appalling my fate may be.”

“Very well,” she sighed, her voice ringing with the tragic tone of a physician delivering a fatal diagnosis.

He bit back a smile. “Perhaps I had better sit down for this.”

“A legacy of death has been passed on to you,” she said bluntly, reflecting none of his teasing laughter. “You have tried to shield and protect others in the past, but no longer will you be able to do so. You have learned this lesson already. Those who surround you are shadowed by death.”

Nicholas sobered. Her words were vague enough to be applicable to almost anyone, yet he couldn’t deny the ominous ring of truth contained within her message.

“There is more,” she said. “Do you want to hear it?”

“It seems I should.”

She nodded and continued, “A man and a woman whom you believed to be close to you have returned your trust with treachery. The woman is no longer present in your life, but the man is. He has betrayed you in the past and will betray you again.”

He studied her for a long moment, torn between disregarding her dire prophecy completely and foolishly allowing himself to be drawn in. Finally he succumbed to morbid curiosity and asked, “Can you tell me who the man is?”

“Your brother.”

A shock of icy dread filled his belly. Although her words weren’t entirely unexpected, it took him a minute to find his voice. “My brother is dead.”

“Is he?”

With that simple question Katya plunged directly to the heart of what had been troubling him for weeks. Richard’s death. Never had he been able to believe that Richard would take his own life—if only for no other reason than that his younger brother had been far too selfish. Even when confronted with the evidence of Richard’s enormous gambling debts, he still couldn’t quite convince himself that Richard would have been in such despair as to have taken his own life. It just didn’t fit.

But if that were the case, where was Richard now? The question loomed before him, large and unanswerable.

He reined in his errant thoughts, surprised at how deeply Katya’s words had affected him. Short of confessing all and giving her a full history of recent events, there was little left for him to say. He decided therefore that his best solution was to return their conversation to its previous light tone.

“Fascinating,” he remarked. “But I was hoping you could tell me whether I should wager on black or red at the casino this evening.”

Taking her cue from him, the somber expression that had darkened her features slowly vanished. “I’m afraid that wasn’t clear,” she replied with a soft shrug.

“And what about you?” he asked. “Now that we know that my own future is so decidedly grim, dare we check to see what the fates have in store for you?”

She shook her head. “It’s impossible for me to read my own palm.”

“Then let me try.”

He reached for her hand and captured it before she could protest. He turned it this way and that, tracing the lines that etched her palm with one finger, just as she had done. “This is most interesting,” he finally remarked.

“What do you see?”

“You did a great deal of traveling when you were younger.”

Her lips curved in a small, knowing smile. “How incredibly intuitive.”

“You have a remarkable talent in sleight of hand and perform well before an audience.”

“Amazing. Tell me more.”

“I see a man in your future. A tall man with dark hair and an obscene amount of wealth. He has a scandalous reputation, which he no doubt deserves. He gambles, he drinks, and he has been known to engage in empty, licentious affairs. He is harsh, cynical, quick to judge, and at times unbearably arrogant and opinionated. But despite his many faults, there may still be some redeeming quality lurking within the blackness of his soul. You haven’t decided yet whether or not you should trust him. You should.”