What Wild Moonlight (16 page)

Although such a find would normally have absorbed her complete attention, she discovered that her thoughts were curiously unfocused. She stared vacantly at the massive stone structure, circling aimlessly around it, but she couldn’t come up with a single coherent resolution for her predicament. It seemed that all she was capable of was a jumble of simmering, misdirected emotions.

“Do watch your step, Miss.”

Katya started and spun around as a tall, dark-haired man stepped out from behind the ancient structure. Her first thought was that Nicholas had followed her down the steep, rocky path. Once the man stepped out of the shadows, however, she realized that the resemblance was only superficial. Although the stranger shared Nicholas’s height and coloring, his features were far less defined. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles not unlike her own and held a tattered book in his hand.

Sending her a rather bashful, apologetic smile, he said, “Forgive me if I startled you. I didn’t intend to disturb your privacy, but you seemed rather preoccupied, and you continued to move closer and closer to the edge…” He lifted one hand and gestured vaguely at her feet.

Katya glanced down to see that she had indeed moved nearer to the edge of the cliff. “Oh,” she said. “So I did. Thank you.” She stepped back toward safer ground.

The stranger shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. After a long pause, he nervously blurted out, “This monument was erected to honor Emperor Augustus.”

“Yes I saw.” She nodded toward the carvings that ran along the bottom of the structure.

“You read Latin?”

“Yes.”

“How extraordinary.”

She arched one brow in mild reproof. “You’re surprised that a woman is capable of reading Latin?”

A look of stark dismay crossed his features. “Not at all,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to suggest… I’m simply surprised that a guest of Corrina’s would entertain an interest in the classics. I suppose I’ve become rather accustomed to being the odd man out. Do forgive my tactlessness.”

His distress was so genuine and his apology so sincere that Katya immediately regretted putting him so ill at ease. Softening her tone, she said, “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Katya Alexander.”

He gave a polite bow. “Jeremy Cooke. It’s an honor, Miss Alexander.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “I believe I saw you arrive with Lord Barrington.”

“Yes, I did. Is he a friend of yours?”

“A friend?” Jeremy Cooke echoed, looking both flustered and astounded at the suggestion. “No. Merely a passing acquaintance.” An awkward silence fell between them. “Our fathers were well acquainted, however,” he volunteered after a moment.

“Oh?”

Although her reply was meant as nothing more than a polite rejoinder, he immediately interpreted it as a request for more information. “You see, my father believed he had uncovered scholastic evidence proving that King Arthur and his knights truly existed. His treatise on the subject was quite brilliant, really. He was a formidable talent in the arena of historical research. All he lacked was the funding necessary to prove his theories. Fortunately the senior Lord Barrington was generous enough to provide that funding.”

“He acted as your father’s benefactor,” she surmised.

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose he did.” He paused, fumbling for a moment with his spectacles. “But if you’ll forgive me, my pride is such that I must protest the term benefactor. It has too much of a charitable ring to it. I prefer investor. For had my father succeeded in finding the remains of King Arthur’s court, it would have been lucrative for them both.”

“Did he find any evidence to support his theories?”

“Nothing conclusive. We were on the brink of some rather amazing discoveries when the senior Lord Barrington passed away. Unfortunately the current Lord Barrington canceled his family’s financial support shortly thereafter.”

She frowned. “Did Nicholas explain why?”

Jeremy Cooke gave a light shrug. “I suppose he thought the search was pure folly.” He took a deep breath and sent her a reassuring smile. “Fortunately all is not lost. I’ve received quite a bit of interest from the historical society at Oxford College. They have indicated that they may be willing to undertake partial funding of my father’s research.”

Katya gave him a smile that she hoped conveyed both sympathy and encouragement. His plight was not unique among scholars, for there seemed to be a universal shortage of funds and support. Searching for a way to continue their faltering conversation, she glanced toward the book he held. “I see you’re reading Euripides.”

“I am,” he replied, shifting his attention to the thin volume. “Though in truth, I don’t know why I bother. I’ve read him so many times I believe I could recite the lines verbatim without the benefit of the text before me.”

She matched his soft smile with one of her own. “Which of his works is your favorite?”

Apparently this was all the encouragement Jeremy Cooke needed. He eagerly seized the question and embarked on a long-winded discourse detailing the relative merits of the ancient scholar’s writings. Katya listened politely, nodding occasionally. Her gaze moved briefly over the man’s attire as he spoke. It was well made, but showed signs of wear, suggesting a family that had once been affluent but had lately fallen on hard times.

“My, how you do prattle on, Cooke,” called a disdainful voice from their left.

Katya turned to see a tall, immaculately dressed man watching them. He stood with one shoulder propped against a tall stone column; his arms were crossed casually over his chest. His sandy-blond hair showed no sign of thinning, nor were there wrinkles around his steel-gray eyes. Katya guessed his age to be thirty years. Were it not for the expression of haughty amusement that marked his features he might have been handsome.

“It appears as though I’m interrupting,” he said.

“Not at all,” replied Jeremy Cooke. He took an automatic step away from Katya, as though they had been discovered standing too close.

The stranger pushed off from the column and moved toward them. He sized Katya up with a lordly glance, cool and thoughtful. “Aren’t you forgetting your manners, Cooke?” he said after a moment, his gaze resting on Katya. “I believe an introduction is in order.”

“Of course. Do forgive me.” He nervously cleared his throat. “Miss Alexander, may I present Lord Philip Montrose. Lord Montrose, Miss Katya Alexander.”

Montrose gave a low, gracious bow. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Alexander.”

Katya managed to summon a similarly polite reply, though in truth, she felt distinctly uneasy meeting the man.

“I believe I saw you last evening with Lord Barrington, did I not?” Montrose inquired.

“You did.”

“How remiss of him to leave your side.”

“Not at all,” she replied coolly. “As you can see, I’ve found admirable companionship in Mr. Cooke. We were just enjoying a discussion on the works of Euripides, when you arrived.”

“Were you? How very fascinating.” He turned toward Jeremy Cooke. “Pray don’t let me interrupt, Cooke. Do go on.”

For an instant, Katya thought she caught a flash of quiet fury in Jeremy Cooke’s dark eyes But it must have been a reflection of the sun against his spectacles, for when he spoke his voice held nothing but the mild tone of a bashful scholar. “Perhaps another time.”

Montrose smiled. “Yes. Perhaps another time.”

A sharp volley of gunfire filled the air, drawing their attention back to the party that was proceeding without them.

“I see you’re not participating in the contest, Cooke,” Montrose remarked once the blast had died down.

A look of distaste crossed Jeremy Cooke’s face. He shook his head. “I’m afraid that firearms are not my forte.”

“Nor are they mine. Particularly when Lord Barrington is expected to attend. The man does have a rather fearsome reputation, does he not?”

“I suppose he does.”

“Deadly, one might say.”

Thick silence hung between the two men as Cooke shifted uncomfortably. “Surely we can find a more suitable topic of discussion,” he suggested, pointedly nodding his head in Katya’s direction.

Montrose lifted his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “It’s only fair that the lady be warned.”

“Warned? Deadly?” Katya interjected, irritated at having the conversation carry on in circles around her. “What dire words to use in conjunction with Lord Barrington.”

“And yet curiously appropriate, wouldn’t you say, Cooke?”

Jeremy Cooke studied the ground, as though hopeful that a suitable answer might be found there. “Those rumors are all unfounded, are they not?” he finally remarked. “Nothing was ever proven in a court of law.”

Icy satisfaction glistened in Montrose’s eyes. “How very true,” he concurred with a sigh. “Nothing was ever proven in a court of law.”

Katya had the distinct impression that Phihp Montrose had just neatly accomplished his goal—to plant seeds of doubt in her mind as to Nicholas’s character and reputation. And, loath as she was to admit it, he had succeeded. But other than indulging his taste for malicious gossip, she wondered what he stood to gain by doing so. But before she could determine his intent, Montrose abandoned the subject of Nicholas altogether.

“Come,” he said, as another blast of gunfire rang through the air, “we’re missing the spectacle. Surely we don’t want to be absent when they tally the kills.”

After enduring a seemingly endless afternoon of Corrina’s gruesome entertainment, Nicholas and Katya were finally able to make their good-byes. They left the party on horseback, just as they’d arrived, Katya once again wrapped in Nicholas’s strong arms. But before she could adjust to the intimate sensation of his body so close to hers, he drew his mount to a stop near the base of the ancient castle which had entranced her earlier that day.

After a brief walk they passed through a broad opening in the fortresslike walls and gained entrance to the keep itself. The narrow, cobbled streets were bustling with activity. Vendors stood in the arched doorways with carts of merchandise, calling out to the tourists who flocked around them. Painters attired in white smocks splashed oil across their canvasses at an almost furious pace, striving to capture the rich twilight hues before the colors faded into night.

They moved through the lively pedestrian traffic and up a series of steep stone steps. Finally they reached a tall rampart that overlooked the entire keep. From there the view stretched out across the rugged cliffs and gently sloping hills, continuing until the rich lavender and indigo of the horizon melted into the deep azure of the sea.

Katya let out a contented sigh and rested her elbows on the thick stone wall. “This is lovely,” she sighed.

“Yes, isn’t it?” he agreed, but he wasn’t studying the horizon. Instead, his gaze was fixed on her. In the gently fading light, her complexion took on the warm glow of ivory satin. Her body was as slim and lithe as a young girl’s, yet graced with the seductive curves of a grown woman. But of all Katya’s natural attributes, her eyes captivated him the most. Not just the rare lavender color or lush black lashes—although these were quite striking—but what he saw within her gaze. Her attempts to appear sophisticated notwithstanding, her eyes shone with wide-eyed wonder and childlike innocence. It gave her an air of artless vulnerability, despite the plucky confidence she tried to project.

As he studied her, a sharp gust of wind blew over the parapet, lifting her hat from her head and sending it skittering across the rough stone floor. Nicholas bent to retrieve the satin and straw creation.

“Thank you,” she said with a flustered smile.

Her hand moved to her hair in what he assumed was an automatic attempt to smooth her wayward curls. Judging from the abundance of pins that secured it in place, she was constantly striving to control it. As he watched her, it occurred to him that he would love to see her hair fly free, to see it cascade unrestrained down her back in a riot of wanton, luxurious curls.

She tilted her head back and met his gaze with a look of burgeoning curiosity and breathless expectation, as open and trusting as a young child’s. Unfortunately her expression of utter innocence awoke not only his latent desire, but something even more remarkable—and heretofore unknown—within him: his conscience.

He studied her for a long moment, then stepped abruptly back. “This was a mistake,” he said curtly.

“You mean coming here?”

“No. I mean you.”

She studied him blankly. “I don’t understand.”

He let out a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair, searching for the right words. “Perhaps I should have explained something to you at the very beginning. The society here in Monaco is worldly. My acquaintances, both men and women, tend to be profligate, informal, and sexually broad-minded. They drink, cheat, lie, flaunt their wealth, and abuse their servants. Husbands ignore their wives and live with their mistresses, wives bear their lovers’ children, and everyone involved behaves with sophisticated civility. You don’t fit in.”

“I see.” An expression of startled embarrassment flashed through her expressive eyes, then she brought up her chin. “I’m sorry I disappoint you.”

“You misunderstand me. I meant that as a compliment of the highest order.”

“Did you?” she asked tightly.

“I did. There’s an innocence about you that separates you from everyone else here. At first I thought that that was a tremendous advantage, for who would suspect you for combing a man’s pockets? Now I fear that that very quality will make you vulnerable to men like Montrose.”

“Vulnerable in what way?”

A vision of Allyson’s battered, lifeless body flashed through Nicholas’s mind. But this was hardly the time to unburden himself by sharing that grim bit of background with Katya. He pushed the stark image away, saying simply, “He’s a dangerous man—perhaps even deadly.”

“How remarkable. He said the same thing about you.”

A small, humorless smile curved his lips. “And what about Jeremy Cooke? Did he try to warn you away from me as well?”

“Actually, he tried to defend you.”