What Wild Moonlight (12 page)

She was suddenly overwhelmed by an astonishingly wicked and unprecedented urge to let her body “accidentally” brush against his. Just once. Just one forbidden touch to satisfy the insatiable curiosity that threatened to overwhelm her. The mere idea of doing so sent a warm quiver spiraling through her limbs and made her knees go weak.

Fighting her reaction, she straightened primly and held herself deliberately erect, striving to put as much distance between herself and Nicholas as the dance allowed. She reminded herself that the Lord of Barrington was a direct descendant of her family’s ancient enemy. The man was autocratic and arrogant. She was pledged—well, nearly pledged—to another. All of that was undeniably true, yet its importance seemed to melt away with each fluid step they took.

“My congratulations, Katya.”

Startled at the intrusion of his voice, she gathered her errant thoughts and repeated, “Congratulations?”

“Indeed. You have brought bad acting to the height of perfection.”

A deep flush stained her cheeks as she realized he had somehow managed to read her mind. Somehow he had discerned that she was battling a thoroughly embarrassing urge to abandon all sense of propriety and press her body against his. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she murmured awkwardly, unable to meet his eyes.

“It may be an unbearable chore for you to dance with me, but I would appreciate it if you would make that fact a little less obvious.”

Katya’s head snapped up. So much for his being able to read her mind.

“You have two choices,” he continued, speaking in a pleasant but iron-willed tone that only she could hear. “One: you may gaze into my eyes as though you are so overcome by lust for me that you have been temporarily rendered senseless.”

She swallowed hard. As that was far too close to the emotions that had been running through her only seconds earlier, it was definitely not the most attractive of options. “And the second choice?” she asked.

“You may engage me in conversation. To do neither would indicate that a profound dislike exists between us. Need I remind you that this is exactly opposite the relationship we are trying to convince everyone in this room that we share?”

She quickly searched her mind for something to say, but was unable to find a suitable topic. Mistakenly interpreting her silence for consent to act the part of lovers, Nicholas shifted his fingers until he was gently cradling her wrist in his hand. As his ebony eyes locked on hers, he slid apart the buttons of her glove. Moving his thumb with deliberate care, he stroked the tender skin of her inner wrist in a slow, provocative caress. The gesture was profoundly sensual, yet intimate enough that only those truly close to them could see it. Before Katya could react, he lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss against her wrist, brushing his lips against the exact spot he had warmed with his thumb. Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse skyrocketed.

“What would you like to discuss?” she blurted out, her voice high and shaky.

A small, knowing smile touched his lips. “It doesn’t matter. Anything. What are you thinking about right now?”

“William,” she replied, because it was partially true, and because she could think of nothing else to say.

“Ah. No doubt I suffer in comparison.”

“There is no comparison.”

“How touchingly loyal of you. I suppose you realize, however, such virtuous declarations of devotion would be better suited for a moment when you are not locked in another man’s arms.”

”William would understand.”

Nicholas’s brows shot skyward. “Would he? Careful, Goddess. You come terribly close to calling the man a cuckold.”

She stiffened and drew back. “You deliberately twist my words.”

“My apologies, Katya,” he said, moving his hand reassuringly along the small of her back. “You’re right. My remark was out of line. Perhaps it would suit us both to find a less incendiary topic of conversation.” With a slight nod of his head, he indicated the elderly man he had sought earlier. “Our host, for example. The esteemed Duke of Westerly. A disillusioned, dishonored, disappointed man. Nothing but an aging Narcissus desperately trying to avoid the reflection in the pool.”

She followed his gaze, frowning as she studied the short, balding man and the voluptuous, crimson-clad young beauty with whom he danced. “There must be a few admirable traits to his character,” she protested. “Just look at the way his granddaughter dotes on him.”

“The lady you’re referring to happens to be his wife.”

“His
wife?”

“I believe the occasion of this gala is their one-month wedding anniversary.”

She studied him for a moment in silent disapproval. “Why does shocking me seem to be a particular goal of yours?”

“Are you shocked?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Personally, I find it rather sad. A bitter old man vainly trying to cheat death by acquiring a youthful wife. I suppose the spectacle would be humorous were it not so trite.”

“That’s easy for us to judge now, when old age is nothing but a distant glimmer on the horizon. I suspect the lines will not be so easily drawn once our bones are brittle, our hearts are weak, and death is knocking at our door.”

“I sincerely doubt that fate has anything so kind in store for me,” he returned. “I expect that I shall be cut down in my prime, perishing from the bite of a rabid French poodle, or something equally embarrassing.”

Despite her attempts to restrain it, a burst of laughter bubbled from her lips at the image conveyed by his disgruntled words As the last strains of the waltz faded to a close, he drew her tightly to him.

“You should laugh more often, little gypsy.”

Her startled gaze flew to his. His eyes were dark and fathomless; yet within his expression lurked a suggestion of the same stark, earthy desire she herself had felt only moments earlier. Katya’s heart slammed against her ribs and her mouth suddenly went dry. Wordlessly taking her hand in his, Nicholas led her off the dance floor to a semi secluded corner that had been partitioned off from the rest of the room by a group of potted palm trees. Once there, he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her tightly to him. Katya’s breasts pressed against the solid expanse of his chest; her thighs entwined with his. His dark, slumberous gaze brimmed with both sensual conquest and bold confidence. Without granting her time for consent or refusal, he lowered his head and moved his lips over hers.

His kiss was feather light, a mere brush of his mouth against hers. Barely had she adjusted to the shock of that intimate contact when the kiss abruptly changed. Nicholas increased the pressure of his jaw, gently coaxing apart her lips. Boldly he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Katya stiffened instinctively at the unexpected intimacy. She tried to jerk free from his grasp, but he had guessed her intention and tightened his hold, drawing her body even more fiercely against his own. His hips pressed against hers, rocking with a slow, languid motion that mimicked the rhythm of their kiss.

The steady movement was both deeply comforting and unexpectedly exciting. Within seconds her shock and dismay turned to a pure, liquid pleasure that coursed through her veins and warmed her very bones. She tightened her arms around his neck as a jolt of fiery passion shot down her spine. For a moment she felt as though her body would surely melt into his. But she was not yet ready for total surrender. From somewhere deep within her, a small spark of self-preservation remained lit. She turned her head and pulled back, slipping free from his embrace.

The spell was abruptly broken. Like a sleepwalker jolted awake to find herself in strange and unfamiliar territory, Katya gazed up at Nicholas in anxious wonder. She took a deep, shuddering breath and protested softly, “I think you go too far.”

“But you’re not sure, are you?” His eyes locked on hers as he lifted his hand and traced one finger gently from her temple to her cheek. “The Goddess of Mystery,” he said softly. “How apt a title. Nothing about you is as it appears, is it? Beneath your prim little facade there is a fire waiting to be unleashed. I envy the man who can do so.”

“But it won’t be you.” The words tumbled softly from her lips before she could stop them.

“No, it won’t.” A look of both regret and decisiveness crossed his darkly chiseled features. Before she could summon a response, his gaze shifted almost imperceptibly, focusing on something just beyond her left shoulder. “One of the men I am about to introduce you to is Lord Thurston Teecham,” he murmured against her ear. “I suggest we begin with him. If he is carrying the scroll, I presume it will be somewhere on his person, rather than secreted away.”

The abrupt shift in topics left her momentarily speechless. Foolishly she had imagined that Nicholas had succumbed to the same magnetic pull she had felt between them. But as he stepped slightly aside, Katya noted a group of three men who were studying them with looks of undisguised interest. With a jolt of mortifying recognition, she realized that the searing look of desire he had given her—and the kiss that followed—had merely been for the benefit of this audience.

Embarrassment poured through her. The kiss had meant nothing to him. Nothing. She had allowed the line between illusion and reality to blur—but she would not make that humiliating mistake again.

That firmly resolved, she turned her focus to the three men who were approaching. They appeared to be in their early fifties and emanated a kindred air of stodgy pomposity. As Nicholas performed the introductions, she felt their curious gazes move over her body from head to toe, heedless of all decorum and propriety. Had she been anywhere else, she would have wasted no time in removing herself from their offensive presence. Nicholas must have sensed as much, for he kept one hand pressed firmly against the small of her back, as if to remind her to bite her tongue.

As the orchestra began a new set, he suggested smoothly, “Perhaps Lord Teecham would care to lead you through this next dance, Katya.” He turned to the small circle of men with whom they stood and continued, “Normally I would reserve that pleasure exclusively, but Miss Alexander has made it clear that she wishes to spend the evening dancing. While I would like nothing better than to indulge her every whim, I twisted my ankle while riding this afternoon and so I find myself shamefully unable to do so.”

A look of surprise crossed Lord Teecham’s face, then he puffed out his chest and gravely offered her his arm. “The honor would be mine.”

Katya hesitated. Although she had known that this moment would come, she was nevertheless profoundly unprepared for it. Her heart beat wildly within her chest, her breath felt shallow, and her smile was tight and strained. Granted, she had retrieved her own money and jewels from Lady Stanton; and in a portion of her act she did demonstrate her ability to “magically borrow” the personal possessions of various members of her audience, but these were entirely different things.

But she had no time to reconsider the bargain she had made. Nicholas increased the pressure of his hand against her back, gently propelling her forward.

Katya shot him a dark look, then turned to Lord Teecham. “You are too kind, my lord,” she murmured, taking his arm.

Fortunately the dance was a reel, not a waltz, and there fore she would not be subjected to the same intimacy she had shared with Nicholas. Realizing that she would have no better time to search for the scroll, she took a deep breath and steeled her nerves for the task. She lifted her right hand and brushed it lightly against Teecham’s chest. She felt the pleats of his stiffly starched shirt, a watch fob in his breast pocket, and a thick bulge of flesh around his torso, telling her that he wore a corset of some sort to give himself the appearance of a slim waistline.

She felt nothing, however, that resembled a parchment scroll. Emboldened by the fact that he had not noticed her touch, she tried again, checking the pockets of his coat. Again, nothing. As the rhythm of the dance changed, Lord Teecham pulled her stiffly back into his arms. Should she dare to check his pants? The notion that he might conceal the scroll somewhere within his britches seemed preposterous, yet shouldn’t she at least confirm that it wasn’t there? With that thought in mind, she shifted her hand and brushed it experimentally against his thigh.

“Looking for something, my dear?”

Katya gave a horrified gasp and snapped back her hand. Her heart slammed against her chest and her breath lodged in her throat. Aghast at being discovered, she bravely forced herself to meet Teecham’s eyes. “I beg your pardon?” she managed hoarsely.

“I said, what brought you to Monaco? Was it the climate, the gaming, the company, or were you looking for something else?”

Raw relief flooded through her. He hadn’t perceived her touch after all. “I have an engagement with the theater,” she replied, hoping her voice didn’t sound as thin and tremulous to him as it did to her.

He studied her in puzzled silence, then let out a loud guffaw. “Of course, of course. Our own Goddess of Mystery. I hadn’t made the connection. And what of Lord Barrington? Have you two been long acquainted?”

“Less than a week, actually.”

“And yet he’s managed to capture your affections in so limited a space of time.” He paused, favoring her with a knowing smile that fell just short of an outright leer. “How charmingly impetuous.”

Katya ignored the blatant implication that her body could be had for the price of the highest bidder. “You flatter me, Lord Teecham,” she replied coolly, pulling away the moment the music stopped.

As the evening wore on Katya rotated through a variety of partners. She quickly discovered that Lord Teecham was neither the most ill bred nor the most well mannered among the men with whom Nicholas urged her to dance. She endured a long series of clumsy partners, mindless small talk, and vague insinuations. Her feet ached from having been constantly twirled around the dance floor, her nerves were raw from the constant stress of having to search the men with whom she danced, and her head was spinning from too many glasses of champagne.

Finally she could take no more. The music drew to a close and her current partner took her arm and led her back to Nicholas. He stood to greet her, another eager gentleman at his side ready to be foisted off on her. But before he had the opportunity, she announced, “If you gentlemen will pardon me, I should like a moment to tend to my gown.” That said, she turned and walked away. It was perhaps rude, but she was in no mood to be polite.