What Wild Moonlight (23 page)

As she moved, her hand accidentally brushed against the thick oak panel of the wardrobe door. The door parted slightly, then banged softly to a close.

“Did you hear that?” Lord Chalmers’s voice echoed across the chamber like a ricocheting bullet.

Katya froze, as did Nicholas.

“Hear what?” asked Gabriella.

“That noise.”

Thick silence filled the room Katya was afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. She had lost all sense of time. Had two minutes passed since she heard Gabriella’s soft panting, or twenty?

After what seemed an interminable pause, Gabriella spoke. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Odd,” said Chalmers. “I could have sworn…” His voice trailed off as he left the sentence unfinished.

Katya heard the distinctive creak of mattress springs, followed by the sound of Lord Chalmers’s feet striking the floorboards. Then the general rustle of clothing and the low murmur of conversation reached her ears. The lovers’ tone turned distinctly businesslike as they agreed upon a time and a place for their next rendezvous. Shortly thereafter, Katya heard the sound of footsteps echoing away from her followed by the opening and closing of the chamber door. Hollow silence filled the room.

She let out her breath in a rush. Nicholas waited a minute, then opened the wardrobe door and stepped out. She quickly followed and stood in the center of the room, lost in uncertainty After the pitch blackness of the wardrobe, the soft moonlight that filled the room made her feel glaringly exposed. She searched her mind for something intelligent to say, but her thoughts and emotions were too jumbled for her to construct a single coherent statement. Unable to meet Nicholas’s eyes, she turned her attention to her gown, devoting her entire focus to restoring order to the soft folds of satin.

“Katya.”

There was a note of command in his voice, as though he knew she was doing her best to dodge his gaze—and he wasn’t about to let her. Aware that she couldn’t avoid him forever, she reluctantly resigned herself to the inevitable and lifted her eyes to meet his. His expression was curiously flat, stripped of any sign of the fire and passion they had shared only moments earlier.

“Do you regret what happened between us?” he asked.

She studied him in mortified silence. “How would you have me answer that?”

“Honestly, if you please.”

Honestly. As if it were that simple. Then again, perhaps it was. Although her emotions seemed far too complex to analyze in such a brief space of time, she supposed it ultimately came down to just one question: if she had to do it over again, would she? Yes. Without question. Perhaps she should be stronger, firmer in her resistance to the man. But she wasn’t. She could no more resist Nicholas than the tides could resist the pull of the moon. If nothing else, at least that much was clear.

“No,” she admitted softly, “I didn’t wish it, but I don’t regret it.”

In that brief instant, she saw something astonishing in his expression, something she never dreamed she would see. Relief. As though her answer—and perhaps Katya herself—were important to him. Incredible as it seemed, the aloof, decidedly arrogant Lord of Barrington was not as invulnerable as he appeared.

Nicholas and Katya left Lord Chalmers’s room and made their way back to the casino. Fortunately it appeared that their absence had not been noticed. Resuming the roles they had taken earlier, they mingled freely among the other guests, placing wagers, exchanging gossip, and sipping champagne. But despite her attempts to put forth a facade of graceful tranquility, Katya’s emotions remained too heightened from her encounter with Nicholas to properly focus on finding the scroll.

It seemed incredible to her that the gala had continued in their absence as though nothing significant had occurred, for the shift Katya felt within her was one of momentous awe. A life-changing occurrence as impossible and earthshaking as would be the stars veering off course. Unbelievable, yet it had happened. She and Nicholas Duvall. Brought together by fate and destiny, but why? And to what end? The questions lingered, running unanswered through her mind.

Deciding to momentarily abandon the task of searching for the scroll, she left the crowded gaming rooms and stepped out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air. She moved down a shallow flight of steps and followed a sandy path that led away from the casino and toward the rocky cliffs overlooking the sea. She walked without direction or purpose, needing nothing but a few minutes’ respite from her whirling thoughts.

As she rounded a corner, lost in her solitary musing, she was startled by the figure of a man stepping out from the shadows before her. As he moved toward her, she took an automatic step in retreat.

“Miss Alexander?” he asked.

She let out a sigh of relief as she recognized Jeremy Cooke. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Cooke.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t. It’s just… I thought I was alone.”

He gave a polite bow. “Of course. I won’t intrude on your solitude.”

Realizing he had interpreted her words as a request for him to leave, she hastily asked, “Are you having much luck at the tables tonight?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t made a single wager.”

“No?”

He shrugged. “My family resides among the class politely referred to as impoverished nobility… a fancy way of saying that my ancestors have already squandered whatever wealth we once possessed. Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he averred. “If I had an inheritance at my disposal, I fear I would be every bit as much of a wastrel as my ancestors were. But I would throw the funds away on books, rather than tossing it after spinning roulette wheels.”

She smiled. “That makes infinitely more sense,” she agreed. She studied him quizzically for a moment. His evening attire was a bit threadworn, but proper nonetheless. With his thick glasses, preoccupied air, and mild manner, he looked like a scholar who would be entirely at home poring through dusty tomes in a library—not someone she might encounter outside a casino in the south of France. “If that’s the way you feel,” she said, “what is it that keeps you in Monaco?”

“Money,” he answered bluntly. “Now that the Season is over in London, this is where the wealth is. If I am to continue my father’s research, I must find another patron willing to take Lord Barrington’s place. I’ve already spoken to several potential investors who have demonstrated a lively interest in the project.”

“What wonderful news.”

“Yes,” he said proudly, “I’m quite pleased with the way things are progressing.”

They walked together in companionable silence. Of all the people Katya had encountered in Monaco, it was probably with Jeremy Cooke that she felt the most at ease. Despite his age—which she guessed to be a year or two older than Nicholas—Jeremy emanated an awkward, slightly boyish charm that made him seem much younger. Katya made a mental note to ask Nicholas to reconsider funding his research.

“The gardens are lovely here, are they not?” she said after a minute.

“Indeed.”

She stopped for a moment beside a rosebush covered with rich yellow blossoms. “Lord Barrington has a score of roses on his estate,” she said, “but unlike these, they seem to die before they bloom. I don’t suppose you might be able to suggest an antidote?”

“I fear I’m not much of a horticulturist.”

“Nor am I.”

He suddenly brightened. “There is something I recall, however, that might be of use to him. When I was a child there was an old man who lived in our village, one of the few remaining physicians who still adhered to the ancient custom of bleeding his patients back to health. It never occurred to me to wonder what he did with the blood he drained from his patients until I chanced to pass his garden one day and saw him feeding the stuff to his rosebushes.”

“The blood?”

“Indeed. He swore there was a property in it that enriches the soil.”

She gave a light shudder. “How ghastly.”

“But apparently scientific. He had the most magnificent rose garden I’ve ever seen.”

A shout of boisterous male laughter from the balcony drew their attention to the casino. “I suppose we ought to be getting back,” she said.

“Of course.” He immediately offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you. The path is rather uneven and can prove somewhat of a maze at times.”

She accepted his arm with a murmur of thanks.

As they moved along the path, Jeremy nervously cleared his throat and remarked, “It’s quite fortunate that we met this evening.”

“Oh?”

“There is something I should like to say to you, Miss Alexander, only I regret very much that I lack the skill to say it without upsetting you. In truth, I don’t know where to begin.”

Katya gave his arm a light squeeze. “That sounds rather dire.”

“I’m afraid it is,” he replied somberly. “At the risk of being indelicate, I am not unaware that you and Lord Barrington have a certain… intimate relationship.”

Surprised and somewhat taken aback, she replied coolly, “I see.”

“I would not presume to mention it,” he rushed to assure her, “were it not for the conversation we had on our first meeting.”

“I don’t believe I follow you.”

He let out a sigh. “I realize this is terribly awkward for us both. What I mean to say, Miss Alexander, is that I recognize that you are somewhat new to society here in Monaco. Therefore, should you ever find yourself in danger, I would be honored if you would come to me for help.”

“Danger?” she repeated with a light laugh. “Surely you exaggerate.”

“Lord Barrington’s past does not frighten you?”

“Of course not. I can assure you that any rumors surrounding him are completely baseless. He is a perfect gentleman.”

“How very charming,” put in a shrill feminine voice from their left. “I’ve never heard such a testament of undying loyalty.”

She looked up to see Philip Montrose and Corrina Jeffreys standing only a foot or so away, at the point where their paths converged. Katya’s instinctive reaction was one of unpleasant surprise; of all the people she had met in Monaco, this pair numbered among her least favorite.

“Miss Alexander, Mr. Cooke,” Philip Montrose greeted them in a tone of false cheer. “How remarkable to find you here.”

The man was attired in an immaculately tailored black suit accented with a cream-colored silk cravat. Beside him Corrina looked supremely fragile and feminine in a frothy gown of pale blue, a diamond tiara nestled atop her golden curls.

“We were just returning to the casino,” Jeremy Cooke said stiffly. A note of annoyance touched his voice, as though he was also unhappy to see the pair.

“Were you?” Montrose said. “Odd, you were walking toward the cliffs. The casino is behind you.”

Jeremy’s head snapped up as he glanced around with a frown. Then he lowered his head in defeated acknowledgment. “It appears you’re correct, Lord Montrose.” He turned to Katya and sent her an apologetic smile. “I warned you that the paths form a bit of a maze.”

“So you did.”

They reversed themselves and fell in step beside Corrina and Montrose.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the Lord of Barrington described as a perfect gentleman,” Corrina remarked, displaying not the slightest bit of embarrassment at having eavesdropped on their previous conversation. Her lips curved in a smile of amused superiority. “I wonder if Nicholas would be pleased or insulted to hear himself thus depicted?”

“Insulted,” replied Montrose dryly. “From what I gather, the Lord of Scandal seems to enjoy his villainous title.”

“Nearly as much as everyone in Monaco seems to enjoy talking about him behind his back,” Katya put in, her tone one of acid sweetness.

Montrose arched a pale blond brow in cool reproof. “Can you blame us, Miss Alexander?”

She shrugged. “I had no idea there was such a scarcity of suitable topics for conversation.”

“Perhaps it’s the very unsuitability of the topic that makes it so fascinating. As you must be aware, Lord Barrington and Allyson Whitney left quite a mark on society.”

Discussing Allyson Whitney, Nicholas’s former mistress, was well outside the bounds of propriety, and each of them knew it. Given that, there was no need for Katya to temper her remarks. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, affecting a tone of icy disdain.

Montrose inclined his head. “I mention their relationship simply because I would be devastated to see history repeat itself. If so tragic an ending must occur, surely it should happen only once.”

“Tragic?” she repeated. “That’s a bit of an overstatement, is it not? Clearly they were ill suited to each other or their relationship would not have ended.”

“Indeed,” said Montrose. He toyed for a moment with the cuff of his jacket, his gray eyes cool and aloof. If Nicholas was smoldering fire, Katya thought, this man was ice. “Exactly what did Lord Barrington tell you regarding his break with Allyson?” he inquired.

“To his credit, very little. I can hardly see why that should be a matter of my concern.”

“That’s either a very brave stance or a very foolish one, my dear. Particularly when you consider the facts surrounding Miss Whitney’s shocking death.”

Katya had thought herself prepared for any assault they might make against Nicholas’s character. But this caught her completely off guard. “Her death?” she echoed in a shocked, trembling voice she instantly hated.

“It’s not surprising that you would be unacquainted with the horrid circumstances surrounding Allyson Whitney,” said Corrina. “The scandal has been quite thoroughly hushed up—at least, in so far as no one would ever dare speak of it directly to Nicholas. Still, the taint of it lingers around him, does it not?”

Too occupied with her own thoughts to be annoyed by the patronizing sympathy in Corrina’s tone, Katya nodded numbly as she considered the reception Nicholas routinely received from his peers. It was cold to the point of icy. She had attributed the reaction to Nicholas’s character in general, even to his family history, rather than to a specific event. Clearly this was not the case.

Only moments earlier she had experienced a sensation of almost giddy joy as she considered Nicholas. Now, however, a chill ran through her bones and a feeling of ominous dread spread through her limbs. Like her ancestor Sacha, she had deliberately blinded herself to that which she did not wish to see. But this was a foolish luxury she could no longer afford.