What Wild Moonlight (15 page)

Nicholas looked aghast. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. It was a relatively simple trick, but apparently the escape latch refused to give.”

“You weren’t here at the time?”

“No. As I grew older I functioned as a manager for my parents, rather than appearing with them onstage. I was in London when it happened, making arrangements for their next tour.”

A look of quiet sympathy showed in his eyes. “That must have been awful for you.”

“It was.” Katya hesitated for a moment, then, emboldened by the genuine understanding she read in his face, she admitted softly, “In truth though, I found a strange sense of comfort in the way they died. I think they would have preferred it to happen like that. Onstage, performing, locked in each other’s arms.” She let out a small, wistful sigh. “My parents were so gloriously happy together,” she said, “so in love. That was the real magic they shared.” At his silence, she looked away, embarrassed by the sentiments she was expressing so freely. “I sound foolish, don’t I?”

“You sound inexperienced,” he corrected gently. “Naive. But there’s no shame in that.”

Although she understood rationally that he had not meant his words as either a challenge or a slur, she couldn’t help but take them that way. “Once I’ve gained the vast experience that you possess,” she said, “I suppose then I can play the worldly sophisticate to your satisfaction.”

“Your William should have accompanied you to Monaco,” he replied curtly.

She blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “What? Why?”

“Because young ladies of your station should not wander across the continent unescorted. You could fall prey to any number of—”

“Scoundrels such as yourself.”

He studied her for a moment, then a smile curved his lips. “Indeed. Scoundrels of the very worst sort.”

“I shall take care to guard myself against them.”

Nicholas’s gaze drifted over her. He parted his lips as though to speak, then he seemed to think better of it. As though recalling his purpose in joining her at the theater, his expression slowly sobered. “Corrina Jeffreys is hosting a shooting party this afternoon,” he said. “I thought it might be wise if we make an appearance.”

“Should I return to the villa and change?”

He gave her attire a cursory glance. “You look lovely.”

Katya knew a perfunctory compliment when she heard one, but she let it go, considering the question herself. She wore a simple white linen blouse with a square neckline that had been minimally adorned with lace. Her full skirt was tailored in rich navy cotton. It was a simple ensemble, but not unattractive. Fortunately she had thought to complete the outfit with her most fetching hat. The straw bonnet had a broad brim that turned up in front to frame her face. It was trimmed with white ostrich feathers and pink satin roses; a length of pink satin secured it beneath her chin. It gave her otherwise plain attire a festive look.

“When do you want to leave?” she asked.

He stood and offered her a hand in rising. “Now, if you’re ready.”

“Very well.”

She led the way through the cluttered backstage area, leaving via the performers’ exit. They stepped outside and were immediately bathed in the light and warmth of the brilliant Mediterranean sun. Nicholas took her arm and guided her to the side of the building. He stopped before a magnificent black gelding that stood tethered in the shade.

Understanding immediately that he meant for the two of them to ride together to Corrina Jeffreys’ afternoon gathering, she regarded the animal dubiously. “I assumed you had a carriage waiting.”

“Consider it romantic.”

“I consider it unseemly.”

He smiled. “My prim, proper little gypsy.” Without giving her time for further protest, he closed his hands around her waist, and lifting her as easily as he might a child, settled her in a sidesaddle position on the gelding’s back. Then he mounted behind her with one fluid movement and gathered the reins in his hands.

Recalling his recent tumble from his mount, as well as his difficulty calming the team during the storm, Katya placed her hand against his arm and offered politely, “Would you like me to take the reins?”

She watched his features as puzzlement gave way to understanding. He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I believe I can manage.”

As he tapped his heel against the gelding’s flank, Katya’s heart gave a funny little leap and her pulse seemed to race through her veins. Literally wrapped within Nicholas’s arms, she felt ludicrously safe and secure. In the silence that surrounded them, she was acutely aware of every last detail, the steady drumming of the horse’s hooves against the dirt road; the riot of purple and indigo flowers blooming on the hillside; the heat of the sun on her skin and the gentle breeze against her cheeks; the taste of salty sea air on her lips.

The way his warm, silky breath fanned her neck.

The feel of his thighs pressed against hers.

The spicy, masculine scent of his skin.

Her reticule tapped against her leg as they rode, causing her thoughts to turn to the scroll and journal contained within. As she considered the documents, the words of Sacha, her ancient ancestor, drifted through her mind.

He is not the barbarous heathen of whom I had been warned.

The isolated village of Roquebrune sat perched on a craggy slope overlooking the sparkling vista of Cap Martin. The dwellings and stores that comprised the medieval town were built on top of rocks or dug into the sides of them. The castle that crowned the site had also been constructed of stone. Connecting everything was an intricate labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys that burrowed their way about in all manner of tunnels, arches, and covered passageways.

“The castle is one of the oldest in France,” Nicholas said to Katya as he guided Avignon up the steep path that led around the perimeter of the village. “Some say it dates back to the tenth century.” His thighs brushed against hers as he shifted to allow her a better view of the ancient fortress. “This is one of my favorite places in all of Monaco. In all of France, for that matter.”

She silently absorbed the information, wondering what it told her about the man. The castle was ruggedly beautiful, yet profoundly isolated from the surrounding villages and towns. Viewed from a distance, it might even seem unreachable.

“Do we have time to explore?” she asked.

“Perhaps on our return. The keep is best viewed at twilight in any case.”

She watched with regret as they rounded a bend and the fanciful, storybook-like castle disappeared from view. Determined to get a better look, she made a silent vow to hold Nicholas to his word and return later that afternoon for a proper tour.

They rode away from the village, moving in a smooth, lolling canter toward a rocky promontory that was flanked by a grove of cypress, olive, and pine. An assortment of fashionable carriages and elegant mounts was stationed beneath the trees. But other than a collection of well-dressed groomsmen who attended the horses and buggies, there appeared to be no one about.

Nicholas reigned Avignon to a halt beside the other mounts. He dismounted, then turned to help Katya. Before she could ask where the other members of the party had assembled, a burst of gunfire exploded in the air around them, shattering the idyllic silence of the site. Katya jumped and gave an involuntary gasp.

Nicholas continued his task of tying the reins to the branch of a cypress tree. That accomplished, he turned and took her elbow. “It appears the shoot has begun,” he said once the volley had stopped.

Following the noise of the gunfire, he led her to a steep, rocky path that appeared to plummet off the edge of a cliff. The sharp rise led to a grassy plateau that jutted out over the rocky cliffs. There the shooting party had gathered. Katya scanned the assembled group of thirty or so, recognizing most of the faces from last evening’s gala at the Duke of Westerly’s.

“As you can see, ours is a rather haughty, incestuous group,” Nicholas said. “Rarely do we allow anything as invigorating as a new member into our midst.”

“You must have been reading my mind.”

“That’s one of the reasons your presence caused such a stir last night.”

“Really? And what were the other reasons?”

Although she had meant the question as nothing more than a bit of conversational rhetoric, an odd expression crossed Nicholas’s face, telling her that the answer might have more significance than she suspected. Before she could pursue the topic further, however, Corrina Jeffreys detached herself from the men with whom she had been speaking and made her way toward them.

Katya watched her approach. The woman looked almost absurdly feminine in a frothy gown of pink satin that was trimmed with a profusion of delicate cream lace. She wore a matching broad-brimmed hat and pink satin shoes, and she carried a parasol made from the same delicate lace as that which adorned her gown. Her golden hair framed her face in a profusion of neat, shiny curls. Katya realized how disheveled her own hair must look in comparison, how simple and plain her clothing. But she restrained the urge to bit her hand to her hair and fuss. It would be useless to try to attain the air of smoothly coiffed perfection that seemed to come so naturally to the other woman.

“Why, Nicholas,” Corrina cooed, “I’m so delighted you could make it.”

“Corrina,” he replied. Taking her offered hand, he pressed it briefly to his lips, then let it drop. “You remember Miss Alexander,” he prompted, drawing Katya closer to his side.

“Of course. How good of you to attend my little gathering, Miss Alexander,” she said, somehow managing to make her words sound both hollow and gracious at the same time. A call to gather for the next shooting match saved Katya from the pretense of summoning a polite response.

Corrina clasped her hands together like an excited child and turned with an animated smile toward a series of shallow caves carved within the face of the cliff wall. “Do watch closely,” she urged, wrapping her delicate hand tightly around Nicholas’s arm. “I think you’ll find this most exciting Lord Tenley has the most kills for the day—fifty something, I believe—but Viscount Geffert is not far behind. Rumor has it that they wagered over ten thousand pounds on the match.”

Katya followed the direction of the other woman’s gaze. She saw a dozen men standing with their backs to the cliff, their rifles hanging loosely at their sides.

“Take aim,” shouted a portly, middle-aged man whose black-and-red uniform distinguished him as some sort of gaming official. The shooters obediently cocked their weapons and hefted them to their shoulders. “Ready…” called the official.

A murmur of eager expectation ran through the crowd. Five young men with matching black-and-red jackets crouched down near the face of the cliff. Behind them, half-hidden within the dim recesses of the caves, were a series of huge bamboo cages.

“Release!”

The young men sprang to life. They slapped open the bars of the cages, then leaped backward against the cliff face. From within the bamboo cages flew hundreds of doves, squawking in confusion as they flew blindly from the dim recesses of the caves into the bright, dazzling sunlight. They were greeted by blasts of gunshot as the shooters immediately commenced firing. The birds flew in chaotic circles with frantic urgency, disoriented by the smoke and barrage of loud, echoing shots. As the shooting progressed they dropped one by one, plummeting from the sky in a rain of blood and feathers. The doves that hadn’t been killed instantly flopped about like fish on dry land.

Once the shooting died away, Corrina turned back to them with a satisfied glow on her face. “Remarkable, was it not? Such an exciting sport.”

Rather than voice her disgust, Katya remained conspicuously silent.

“How does one determine who earns victory for each shot?” Nicholas asked. His tone was entirely impassive, giving no clue as to his true reaction to the spectacle they had just witnessed.

“The officials mark the rifle powder of each contestant with a colored dye. They’ll check the birds now for traces of the dye, tabulate the results, and add these to the men’s previous scores.” As she spoke, the senior official and his five young assistants were already circulating among the dead and wounded birds.

Corrina let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s the only way to tell, but it is rather tedious,” she lamented, forming her lips into a pretty pout. She tucked her arm through Nicholas’s and tugged him forward, neatly usurping Katya’s place by his side. “Come,” she said. “I suppose I ought to behave like a proper hostess and share you both with my other guests.”

Nicholas took a step, then turned back with a frown when Katya remained where she was, unmoving. “Are you coming, Katya?”

“I’ll be along shortly. I’d like to enjoy the view for a moment first.”

Corrina sent her a cool smile. “Don’t be long, Miss Alexander. You don’t want to miss the next round of shooting.”

Katya managed a polite nod and turned away without a word, moving down a rocky path that led to the cliffs. Oddly enough, she was thankful for the way Corrina had interposed herself between her and Nicholas, for she needed the distance to collect her thoughts. It felt as though the more time she spent with Nicholas, the less she behaved like herself. Normally her actions were prudent and sensible, perhaps even dull. But not now. For the first time in her life she was behaving wholly irrationally—and actually enjoying it. Even as she recognized the folly of her actions, she couldn’t bring herself to change her course.

Beware the Maltese
.

The warning was doing as much good as admonishing Pandora not to open the box. She reminded herself that the Lord of Barrington was a direct descendant of her family’s ancient enemy. That he was quite possibly dangerous. That he viewed her as nothing but a mildly diverting means to an end. None of it mattered. She seemed intent on flinging herself headlong into disaster, just as Sacha had done so many centuries ago.

As she reached the path’s end, she found more than just a stunning view of the Mediterranean. Looming before her was an ancient, semicircular structure comprised of massive stone columns, each connected to the other by means of an ornately carved pediment. It appeared as though a chunk of the Parthenon had been transported to the shores of southern France and deposited on a cliff overlooking the sea.