What Wild Moonlight (8 page)

Her hand flew instinctively to the immodest neckline of her dressing robe. In the week that had passed since she had last seen him, Katya had convinced herself that he couldn’t possibly be as handsome as she remembered. But in truth, his appearance was even more striking and self-assured. She paused, studying him with a frown. If she had considered the DuValentis at all—something she rarely did—she had always imagined them as monsters. Ugly, horned beasts with scaly tails and hairy palms. But that was obviously far from the case with Nicholas Duvall.

Gathering the fabric of her gown protectively to her throat, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

“I would think that’s fairly obvious. I came to help you celebrate your opening night. My felicitations.” So saying, he poured two glasses of the bubbly liquid and attempted to pass one to her.

She studied him stonily, not moving. “You were not invited.”

He gave a light shrug and set the glass on the table beside her. “It may reassure you to know that I am not in the habit of intruding on the privacy of a woman’s dressing chamber.”

“I know nothing of your habits. But I certainly hope they aren’t as bad as your manners.”

“Worse, I’m afraid.” He lifted his glass and took a deep swallow of champagne, studying her with a look of mild amusement. “‘Katya, the Goddess of Mystery.’ Is that truly your name? Katya?”

“Yes.”

“Katya.” He said her name slowly, as though experimenting with the feel of it on his tongue. “It suits you. Exotic, yet not unapproachable.” His dark gaze moved appraisingly over her. “So my little caterpillar has turned herself into a beautiful butterfly,” he remarked.

Katya wasn’t certain whether he was referring to the opening act of her performance, or to her transformation from the mud-soaked girl he had left a few days earlier into the immodestly clad woman who stood before him now. In either case, it didn’t sound like much of a compliment. She told him so.

“On the contrary. There wasn’t a man in that audience who wouldn’t desire you in his bed.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment, either.”

A knowing smile curved his lips. “Given tonight’s crowd, you may be right.”

It was an odd remark to make, especially since the audience that night had been comprised mainly of what was considered the better class: lords and ladies of the realm, the gentry, the wealthy, and the titled. “That reminds me,” he continued smoothly. “I don’t believe I’ve fully introduced myself. My card.” He passed her an elegant square of cream linen.
Nicholas Duvall, Earl of Barrington.

“You’re an earl.”

“I am.”

She studied him in a new light, wondering why she hadn’t seen it earlier. Of course the man was wealthy and titled. That explained his haughty arrogance and air of complete self-assurance, his immaculately tailored clothing and his entree into Monaco’s most exclusive gatherings. So the DuValentis had prospered all these years, while the Rosskayas had for centuries barely managed to scrape by. The DuValentis had acquired wealth and status, while the Rosskayas had fled from country to country, forever hunted and persecuted by their ancient blood enemy.

“Do I detect a frown?” he inquired. “I disappoint you. Perhaps you were expecting a duke or a marquis.”

She coolly raised her gaze to meet his. “I expected an Englishman who was down on his luck and looking to earn a few extra francs by offering to drive our coach.”

“Not very perceptive of you, Miss Alexander.”

“If you weren’t desperate for money, why did you agree to drive us into Monaco?”

“It was a foolish wager, nothing more,” he replied, impatiently dismissing both the question and the topic. He took a long swallow of champagne, studying her for a moment in thoughtful silence. Finally he replied, “I attended your performance tonight. Very impressive. Do you know which part of your act I enjoyed the most?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“I believe you called it Flying Purses. Wasn’t that the part where various possessions belonging to different members of the audience magically flew into your hands onstage? Watches, pipes, brooches, rings, even one woman’s tiara. It was quite impressive—especially when those audience members swore you hadn’t been anywhere near them.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“In fact, I was so impressed, I couldn’t help but try to fathom how you accomplished it. It occurred to me that you must have gotten physically close to them at some point in order to snatch their belongings. Suddenly I remembered an elderly, bumbling usher who seated a few of the guests for tonight’s performance—the very guests whose possessions found their way into your hands. That usher was you, was it not, Miss Alexander?”

Katya hid her surprise and dismay. Had she been that obvious? It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but she could tell by the smug expression on his face that that would be fruitless. “Congratulations, Lord Barrington, you win a prize.”

“Don’t look so disheartened. I sincerely doubt that anyone else saw through your disguise.”

“How very comforting.”

“I did have an edge, after all,” he continued blithely. “I witnessed you employ your considerable talents on the road to Monte Carlo.”

She studied him with a puzzled frown. “I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken. I didn’t perform any magic on the way here.”

“Really?” An odd light filled his eyes as his enigmatic smile returned. “I believe you have something of mine, Miss Alexander.”

Katya’s first thought was that he was referring to the Stone. Then she noticed that he had held up his right hand, subtly indicating his third finger. His glove and ring, she realized with a start, reaching into her reticule for the items. She passed them to him with a murmur of apology.

“They came off in my hand when you tried to pull me up the cliff,” she reminded him.

“Did they?” There was a note of condescending disbelief in his tone, as though he were humoring a small, corrupt child.

Her brows snapped together. “Are you suggesting that I deliberately stole your possessions?”

“You needn’t take offense, Miss Alexander. It was a natural assumption after I witnessed you deftly remove that black pouch from Lady Stanton’s bag. Granted, you were far smoother onstage this evening, but it was an impressive display nonetheless.”

Katya’s thoughts spun in a tangled disarray. He believed she was a thief. She had assumed that Nicholas Duvall had sought her out in order to find some resolution to the ancient feud that existed between their families. Instead, he was under the misguided notion that she was a common pickpocket.

“You needn’t look so stunned, Miss Alexander,” he said smoothly. “What else could I have thought? Particularly after you pointedly told me nothing of yours had been taken.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but you are entirely mistaken, Lord Barrington. What you saw, that is, what you think you saw, was merely—”

“You recovering your own goods,” he finished. “Though I hold that didn’t occur to me until I saw you on stage this evening. You’re quite talented. Amazing, really. Rather than admit to me that you’d been taken, you simply chose to remedy the crime on your own.”

“I assume there’s some point to this.”

“I have a proposition for you. One that will benefit both of us.”

“I’m not interested.”

“There is an object I need recovered,” he continued, as though she hadn’t spoken at all. “I have reason to believe the person who stole it is here in Monte Carlo. Someone of your abilities could make the task of finding the object considerably easier for me. In turn, I could make your stay in Monaco considerably more profitable for you.”

“You’re asking me to
steal
for you?”

“Quite the opposite. I’m merely asking you to recover an object that rightfully belongs to me—just as you recovered your possessions from Lady Stanton. I’ll take care of everything after that.” He paused, a look of somber reflection on his face. “I have a few ideas as to who might have stolen it, but I’m not certain. The item is small enough that whoever has it might very well be carrying it on his person. Then again, he may have secreted it in his residence. I’d like you to discreetly search both the men themselves and their rooms.”

His voice sounded vaguely distracted as he spoke, as though he were discussing ledgers and accounts, rather than the astonishing suggestion that he employ her as a thief.

She stared at him in incredulity. “You can’t be serious.”

“Can’t I?”

“I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time, but I couldn’t possibly—”

“I’ll double the amount Monsieur Remy is paying you. Triple it, if you like. Your fee is of little consequence, so long as we are successful..”

“I see.” Katya sank into the chair beside him, her thoughts careening in clumsy turmoil.
Triple
what Monsieur Remy was paying her?

He removed a timepiece from his breast pocket, frowned at the hour, and shifted impatiently in his seat. “What do you say, Miss Alexander? The path to riches begins with one single step.”

“So does the road to ruin,” she murmured absently. Although she knew she should turn him down and order him from her room, her curiosity had been whetted. She found herself asking, “What am I to look for?”

“A parchment scroll. It has little actual worth, but great sentimental value to my family.”

Katya’s breath caught in her throat. The stories and ancient legends that had filled her childhood rushed through her mind. The DuValentis held one third of the scroll, the Rosskayas held a third, and a third resided at an isolated abbey. According to ancient lore, when the three scrolls were joined, the Stone of Destiny could finally be claimed by its rightful owner.

The absurdity of the situation hit Katya with a sudden, shocking impact. He was asking her, a Rosskaya, to retrieve the DuValenti parchment. Nicholas Duvall had absolutely no idea who she was.

Then again, she thought, why should he recognize her? The parchment was passed down through the women in her line—women whose names changed when they married, women who moved from country to country, women who had a tendency to die young and leave their legends and their legacies to their daughters. Perhaps over the centuries the DuValenti men had simply lost track of the wandering Rosskaya women.

Katya’s mind raced as she considered the ramifications of what he was proposing. Not only would her immediate financial problems be solved, but the wrong that had been done to her family centuries ago would finally be avenged. Spying the glass of champagne sitting on the table before her, she reached for it and took a long, comforting swallow. If only William were there. He could sort it out, make sense of everything. But William wasn’t there. Instead, Nicholas Duvall sat a mere arm’s length away, his intense, masculine presence almost overwhelming within the dainty confines her dressing room.

Aware that he was awaiting a response from her, she forced her mind back to the question at hand. “How do you suggest I get close enough to these men to search their persons?” she inquired.

He gave an indifferent shrug. “I won’t question your methods, Katya, so long as they bring results.”

Her eyes flashed toward him at the sound of her Christian name on his tongue.

Guessing her intention, he immediately forestalled her objection. “What else should I call my new mistress, if not her given name? And you, of course, shall call me Nicholas.”

Her eyes widened and her champagne glass nearly slipped from her grasp. “Your mistress?”

“What better way to explain your sudden, constant appearance by my side? I saw you perform this evening and instantly fell under your spell.” An odd, burning light filled his eyes as his gaze traveled slowly over her body. “And your charms are considerable. Katya, the Goddess of Mystery. That suits you far better than the prim little spinster act you feigned earlier.”

Katya bit back a nervous bubble of laughter. That hadn’t been a farce at all. If she had appeared a prim little spinster, it was because that was exactly what she was. Yet now she was actually contemplating playing the part of his mistress. Could she do it? Could she match wits against him and come out ahead? The virgin playing the part of the sophisticate. The mere idea was ludicrous, not to mention dangerous. If he should discover her real identity… A cold shiver ran down her spine despite the warmth of the room.

The DuValenti are a merciless clan, not to be trusted at any cost. They are fierce in battle and swift to revenge. They will do anything to get their hands on the Stone.
The words echoed through her mind as she struggled to piece together her memories of the ancient legends.
Follow the Maltese and he will lead you to the Stone.

“I presume you mean mistress in name only,” she stalled.

A sardonic smile touched his lips. “Evidently I vastly overestimate my appeal to the fairer sex.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, it’s not.” His eyes locked on hers. “Very well. In name only. Consider it our little masquerade.” He raised his glass to hers. “What do you say, Goddess? Do we have a bargain?”

Katya awoke shortly after dawn to the sound of her landlady arguing with the local butcher as to the quality of the pork that was being delivered to her door. She let out a low groan and rolled over, stuffing her head beneath the pillow. As she tried to lull herself back to sleep, memories of the night before suddenly flooded her thoughts. A jolt of nervous energy coursed through her veins, leaving her wide awake.

Had she truly agreed to pose as Nicholas Duvall’s mistress?

She sat up in bed and rested her chin on her knees, drawing her rumpled sheets tightly to her. What if Nicholas Duvall should discover who she was? While he had not asked her if she was a member of the Rosskaya clan, she was nonetheless guilty of committing a lie of omission. But what choice did she have? If the DuValenti were as fierce and unscrupulous as legend indicated, revealing her identity would not only be foolhardy, it might even put her in danger.

Realizing that her circular thoughts were only serving to fuel her anxieties, she brushed away the possible repercussions of her actions and began to dress. It was too early to leave for the theater and begin her day’s rehearsals, so Katya decided to take a brisk stroll through the principality instead. She returned to the inn an hour later, feeling awake and refreshed. But the sight that greeted her brought her to a dead stop and defeated all the feelings of cautious optimism she had cultivated while on her walk.