Gypsy Jewel (22 page)

“I am delighted that you are pleased. Are they not a picture, him so dark and her so golden? Ah, but forgive me, of course you have yet to feast your eyes on the beautiful little dancer. Rest assured she is as light as this one dark, perfectly suited to him.” Pavel enjoyed thrusting the little barb at the count, who was powerless before Damien to disagree.

Ivanov kept a smile pasted to his features. “I look forward to making her acquaintance as well.”

“You shall not have long to wait. No, indeed, for here she is now.” Pavel pointed at April standing hesitantly at the entrance to the grand ballroom, poised upon the checkered squares of onyx and ivory like a queen debating her move in the game.

As all three men turned to stare, her color heightened under their combined scrutiny. Quickly she read the expressions there; Pavel, disdainful as always, Damien, concerned and so grim, and the count’s dark eyes clouded with some unreadable emotion.

She entered under an arch gilded with gold leaf and walked in a whisper of silk up to Damien. “Are you ready?” she asked him softly, taking hold of his sleeve for comfort and support.

“Whenever you are,” he replied flatly.

Something was wrong. April sensed it stronger than ever, her finely tuned nature silently shrilling with alarm as she surveyed the ready room and its few occupants.

A cold chill caressed her skin, and she parted her lips to speak, to beg off the performance, but then Damien broke abruptly free and went to take his place across the room.

April was left alone with the count and Pavel, who both murmured meaningless compliments before departing to their own chairs placed squarely in front of her. As Ivanov sat back and studied her intently, she felt a rush of overwhelming trepidation, though whether from nerves or an imaginary danger she did not know.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, April swept the count a dramatic curtsey. Vasili’s narrowed eyes noted that her grace was feline and a perfect unconscious mimicry of the Grand Duke’s niece. Katya had been like a golden lioness, lithe and beautiful, and just as deadly. Known as the Circassian Cat among court circles, her exotic heritage had only made her more desirable to men, and rumors that she was directly descended from the fierce 12th century Queen Tamar had never been questioned.

April was so similar that merely watching her made Vasili’s blood rush and pound in his veins. One moment she was a simple gypsy girl, whirling and clashing her finger cymbals, the next she was that sultry court siren Katya weaving her timeless spell around him again. He was so haunted by the resemblance that he soon had to force his gaze away from her and concentrate upon the musician instead.

Noting the count’s sudden aversion, April assumed she had done something wrong. Her emotions plummeted. It seemed that she could please nobody of late. Even Damien, whom she knew loved her, was cool and remote. Deciding to take a short-cut and end the humiliation, she gave one final spinning flourish and dropped to the floor in a puddle of green and gold silk.

Cut off in mid-draw, Damien looked at April in annoyed confusion. What was she trying to do? Her face was averted from him but he could clearly sense her intent not to continue. And if they did not please the count, he might toss them out. Not to mention the vengeance Pavel would extract, as the dwarf had already threatened what would happen should they fail to amuse Count Ivanov.

Pavel’s expression was thunderous, but he was intelligent enough to look to Ivanov before he reacted. Seeing the predisposition to kindness in the count’s eyes, Pavel merely glared at April until she finally raised her face to all the men and murmured one simple word.

“Please. I can’t continue right now.”

It was a plea and a statement, all in one. It was clear she either would not, or could not, go on. Damien didn’t know whether to be angry or proud, but when the count rose and extended his hand to April, raising her slowly up with his dark eyes riveted to her, he knew he definitely wasn’t happy.

Jealousy clenched Damien, surprising him yet again. It was obvious that Ivanov was intrigued with April. And what man wouldn’t be, he reasoned. She was living beauty, grace inborn, and as refreshingly innocent as the court ladies were not.

Like a fawn, April quivered before Ivanov, seemingly unsure of her first instinct for flight. Something in her eyes obviously appealed to the count’s male instinct to want to protect her. Though Damien knew April could fend for herself, he longed to break Ivanov’s grip on his wife’s hand with a brutal bodily thrust between them.

“Don’t you feel well, my dear?” the count inquired in a solicitous, fatherly tone that didn’t fool Damien for a minute.

“No, I don’t,” April responded breathlessly. “I’m feverish and a little dizzy.”

“Then I insist you immediately retire for the evening. You are my guests, and are welcome to reside in my home for the night.” Ivanov turned slightly to include Damien in his invitation. “Of course I will provide you with separate chambers, so that your wife may rest undisturbed.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed at that suspiciously hospitable statement, but he could not speak before Ivanov had summoned one of the maidservants who was hovering near the foiled entrance.

“Zofia. You will show Madame April to the Gold Room for the night.”

“But —” the woman began, obviously taken aback about something.

Ivanov gaze hardened on the maid. “If she needs anything, you will see to it.”

Dropping her gaze, Zofia nodded and bobbed a mutinous curtsey. Satisfied, the count waited until April turned to follow the maid out.

Ivanov saw Damien still stood clutching the neck of his violin as if he would strangle it. Amused, he considered the imposition of the girl’s unwelcome husband, but decided that the fellow had earned a hearty meal and a warm bed for one night. Tomorrow he could be paid or persuaded to relinquish his lovely young wife into the safekeeping of Samarin House.

T
HE ROOM THAT
A
PRIL
was shown to had been hastily dusted and readied for occupation only moments before. Anticipating the count’s commands, Zofia had seen to it that the Gold Room was presentable. Though April had no idea what caused the maidservant to regard her so darkly, she immediately picked up on the strange atmosphere within the room.

“Someone left their things here,” she remarked, turning in surprise to confront Zofia.

But the maid slipped out, slamming the great carved oak door behind her. April was a little disconcerted, but not frightened. She assumed Zofia disliked her for her dancing, which was not so unusual. And she did not feel energetic enough right now to confront the woman.

With a weary sigh, April undressed. She found the wardrobe conveniently full of beautiful gowns and chamber wear, and chose an ermine-trimmed satin wrapper to ward off the chill. She padded curiously around the room, wondering who usually kept residence here.

On a Queen Anne vanity of deeply polished wood, she found an array of delicate crystal flagons and cosmetics, most still uncorked or in their original wrappers. There was a heavy ivory-handled hairbrush and matching carved comb, exquisitely designed and yet free of stray hairs, unused. She had no idea that only an hour earlier a priceless emerald necklace had been strewn across the same vanity, for it had been whisked away to safer quarters now.

April wondered if the count provided such homey touches for all his guests. Perhaps so. But as she circled the room, studying the huge velvet-canopied bed with its sable throw, she felt an icy shiver of fear that could not be fully explained.

Of course, she was still uncomfortable about imposing on the hospitality of a stranger, and about coming to Moscow in the first place. The elegance of the room and the beautiful gowns arrayed like jewels in the closets could not fully distract her from worrying about the future.

Surely sometime this chamber had belonged to a young lady like herself. The count’s wife, perhaps, or his daughter? But he had mentioned nothing like that. Still, April’s senses were finely tuned and she fancied she could catch the faintest whiff of a perfume still clinging to the room.

At last, too tired to ponder further, she sank into a deeply cushioned, gold satin chair that faced the only window. Unlike the room on the first floor, this chamber had no open door to the tiny balcony outside. Instead it appeared that it had been bricked off to create the smaller window instead. The view was currently limited to blowing gusts of snow and an occasional glimpse of an icy moon. April had not felt so lonely in a long time.

When a soft knock came at her door, she found herself anxious for company. Even if the unfriendly Zofia was only returning to check on her, she decided she would delay the maid with an excuse to talk.

“Come in,” she called, turning in the chair to welcome her visitor.

She was surprised when Ivanov himself appeared. In his hands was a beautiful silver tea tray and an array of tiny sandwiches.

“Oh,” April started to get up, but he shook his head kindly at her as he paused to shut the door behind him.

“I thought you might welcome a bite of food and something warm to drink,” he explained. “I doubt if you had time to sup before you came.”

The sight of the sandwiches filled to overflowing with thinly sliced meat and cheeses did look appealing. Not thinking to consider her state of dishabille, April helped him to move over a small table between two chairs.

“You must join me,” she said, truly hoping he would stay for a minute. The storm outside and the dark night had brought a loneliness to her soul that could not be quelled by the fire crackling merrily in the grate beside the bed.

Ivanov was trying all the while not to stare at the deep shadow that was revealed when the top of April’s wrapper gaped a little. Though he knew her to possess a lovely body, this first glimpse of paradise almost rendered him breathless. Had he been Damien, he knew he should have demanded his wife wear sackcloth to still the hungry gazes of other men.

April curled like a little cat in the chair across from him, waiting for his cue to sink her teeth into a sandwich. Then she rolled her eyes and exclaimed in delight, “It’s delicious. You can’t imagine what we’ve been eating all these weeks on the road.”

Ivanov was amused. Her honest enthusiasm thawed something in his heart. He hadn’t felt this young in years.

“I hope you enjoy every bite,” he said sincerely. “And rest assured, I had a platter twice this size taken to your husband. Cook will be furious if you don’t eat every crumb. You see, I roused her at this late hour to see to my guests’ comforts.”

“You are a wonderful host, count,” April said.

“Please, call me Vasili. But surely you are thirsty after all the exertion of dancing. Would you like tea?” He was poised to pour.

At her nod he commenced. “This is very fine oolong, obtained at great length from the Orient. Or if you wish, I can ring for another kind.” There was a tiny silver bell on the tray as well.

Hastily April swallowed and reached for her saucer. “No, this is perfect.” She drank sparingly of the hot brew and studied him over the rim. The count was a handsome and self-assured man. He obviously wooed women before. Perhaps he often entertained married women in their bedchambers? Realizing the awkwardness of the situation, especially should Damien hear of it, she murmured, “I should be sleeping by now, Vasili.”

“Indeed,” Ivanov agreed readily, “your dancing must be very tiring. My intention, however, was not to keep you up over late. I merely wished to see to your comforts. I have a responsibility for my guests.”

“Even gypsies? Most people hate us.”

A thoughtful smile played around the corners of his mouth. April studied him closely in that moment. Like her husband, Ivanov was clean-shaven, and also kept his hair a shade on the long side for fashion. His dark eyes burned into hers as he murmured, “I appreciate such a candid question. But what reason have I to despise you? Especially one so fair as yourself. You must know that you are lovely.”

Loveliness did not always equate with inner beauty, April knew. But she accepted his compliment. “Thank you. I only hoped to bring a little light to you with my dancing. I am sorry I had to end it so early. But there was something …” Unexpectedly, she shivered.

Immediately solicitous, Ivanov went to fetch the heavy fur spread off the bed. As he draped it about her shoulders, he noticed for the first time the silken cord looped around her neck and disappearing into the enticing vee between her breasts.

“You wear a special necklace?” he inquired lightly. “A gift from your husband, perhaps?”

“No, it’s just a lucky pebble, a talisman of sorts.”

“May I see it?”

April tried to keep her tone equally light. “If you know anything of gypsies, then you know I cannot reveal it or I’ll lose all my luck.”

Ivanov laughed. “Good or bad luck?”

“Both. Life is not life without some of each. However, if you like, I can find another magic pebble for you.”

He suspected by the mischievous sparkle in her green eyes that she was teasing him. “I think not. I have all I could wish for right now. A fine night and a beautiful woman for company.”