A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (6 page)

Raven shook her head. “That item is just on display, part of the decorations for the night.”

“I still want to buy it. I want it. And what I want, I get.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Sorry, it already belongs to—”

“Name your price,” he interrupted. “I don’t care the cost. Isn’t that what this gala is all about—helping the orphanage? With what I’m willing to pay, homeless kids could do very well for several years.”

“You’re a determined man, Trevelyn Sinclair.”

She started to smile, but tensed when he pulled a coin from his pocket. He touched her shoulder and then drew his finger down the length of her arm, seeing gooseflesh rise under his caress. “You don’t know the half of it, Red.”

She held her breath as he inserted the coin, watched with a mixture of emotions flooding her eyes as he picked up the card. “The Lovers. Same as I pulled before,” he mused.

As he turned it to see if he’d drawn the same fortune, she said, “I wouldn’t put much stock in these cards, Mr. Sinclair. I’m certain my brothers stacked them for a gag.”

“Well, when I buy it, I can stack the deck myself,” he teased.

“You can be persistent, but the Gypsy belongs to me. She’s a birthday gift from my sister.” Raven smiled as she described her sibling: “LynneAnne restores carousel horses. Brishen often helps, since he can sculpt in wood and fashion the precise pieces that she needs to repair them. Not many have that talent. I always thought that special commonality would see romance bloom…” She shrugged a bare shoulder.

“Instead, he’s chasing after your little sister.”

“In a fashion. I don’t think his heart is truly engaged, despite his protestations. He’s gone through phases of being moon-eyed over one or another of my sisters for years. His first big passion was for Britt, but the romance just never worked out. He was ten at the time, and Britt seventeen. Since then, he’s been in love with nearly all my sisters.”

“And you?” Trev steeled himself against jealousy.

Raven blushed but didn’t reply.

“He’s an extremely handsome man. What’s the problem? A
Gypso
not good enough for any of the granddaughters of Sean Montgomerie?”

He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, and Raven stiffened. “Hardly. I think the problem is Brishen loves us, but he’s not
in
love. There is a difference. I utterly adore him, I love him.”

Her saying she loved Sagari sent a sudden surge of hot acid spurting through Trev’s system. The painful sensation circled around and finally slammed into his heart, which pounded erratically. Yep, it was jealousy, pure and simple; he was nearly blind with the urge to fist his hands in her hair and then drag her off, caveman-style. It took all his willpower not to follow through.

“But it’s the love a sister feels for a brother,” Raven continued. “Rather sad, actually, because I think Brishen is likely the one man in the world who’d allow me to be me.” She gave Trev a bright expression, but there was gut-wrenching sadness underneath. “Once upon a time I allowed a beautiful man to prey on my trust—or my gullibility, if you prefer. Alec was as handsome as you, though I doubt you’d see that now. But he was. He was a golden boy who seemed to know all the right words, the perfect things to do. He used my faith in people against me. I’ll never allow any man to use me like that again.”

She drew a long, pained breath before continuing. “See? I told you this dress is not me. And that’s the truth. Basically I’m a coward, not well equipped to deal with this world and its harsh realities. People joke the Montgomerie sisters are born of warrior stock. I think that gene is missing in me. So, one night a year I pull on a fancy dress and go dancing at a pretty ball. Then I’m content to go home to my pumpkin. I live alone in a tiny cottage and spend my days in jeans and baggy sweaters. Often, I lose myself in painting for hours on end. Brishen accepts me as I am. Most men wouldn’t.”

“
Happy
to go home to your pumpkin?” Trev pressed. “Or do you settle for being content? There’s a difference, Red.”

She spun on her heel without answering and headed back toward the rocking horse. The auction was beginning.

Trev watched her go. “Pumpkins be damned,” he said, hungry as a wolf. “Time for me to go into my huffing and puffing act, I suppose. Sorry, Red, but you’re in the wrong damn fairy tale.”

While observing the proceedings of the auction, Trev sipped a whisky neat. He relished the soothing sensation of The Macallan, a scotch that had gained widespread popularity over the last decade. The brand was giving the old guard a run for their money, winning awards left and right. He supposed that was why he appreciated the liquor so much: he had a soft spot for a quality underdog, and the whiskey’s sudden prosperity almost paralleled the Mershan brothers’ rise to power. Finishing off his drink, he absently placed the glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

At the front of the hall, Cian stood before the lots, giving a little provenance for each in turn—who donated or created it—along with the value of the item, all geared to prod people to open their checkbooks. Some pieces were antiques contributed by other patrons of the orphanage. About a third came from regional artists: the Montgomeries were offering local talent a showcase through the charity.

Raven took a position on the opposite side of each item, beautiful window dressing, but once the actual bidding began, both Montgomeries stepped back and allowed the Christie’s auctioneer to take over. A prettily staged show. But the whole affair was sadly ironic, and it rankled Trev. He thought of three little boys who’d been driven into deepest poverty because of Sean Montgomerie’s ruthless and uncaring actions. No help had been offered by “Midas” Montgomerie to the Mershan sons. Which only firmed up Trev’s drive to take back what had been stolen from them all those years ago.

Focused on tracking Raven, he was surprised when a feminine hand curled around his bicep. Glancing to his right he saw Paganne. She was grinning up at him, her chocolate brown eyes flashing with mischief and a come-hither look. The imp. She was going to probe him while her sister was away, test if she could turn his head.

“I rather admire how you handled Alec. Very neatly done,” she remarked.

“Won’t that handsome blue-eyed Gypsy get in a dither if he finds you on my arm?” Trev replied. He was unconcerned about the possibility, but wanted to judge Paganne’s reaction.

“He excused himself for a smoke. Nasty habit.” Raven’s sister rolled her eyes. “While the cat’s away puffing, he has to expect the mouse might get playful. Still, perhaps if he challenged you to a duel at dawn or even fisticuffs—something romantic and dashing—I might think him truly serious about me. More likely, he’ll just call you some Gypsy insult and then threaten to have his gran curse you. And bet on it: she would. Something very dire, too—along the lines of all your hair falling out or your manhood shriveling up. Men tend to take those threats seriously.”

“Understandably,” Trev replied. “We’re touchy about our hair and well…” He gave a comical glance downward.

Paganne chewed at the corner of her lip and looked him over, deviltry and curiosity barely contained. “So, where
did
you meet Raven?”

Trev almost chuckled. “I met her at the candy store…”

Raven’s sister started to laugh but lightly bit her lower lip instead. “Cute. ‘You turned around and smiled at her’? I get the picture. Just because the song came out before I was born doesn’t mean I haven’t heard it. Asha, Raven’s twin—But oh, you already know she has a twin, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do—lighter colored hair, and presently lives in Kentucky,” he replied, getting a kick out of their game.

Paganne’s perfectly arched brows lifted in surprise, because
she still didn’t fully believe he’d known Raven before tonight. “Then, she’s told you about the Wurlitzer?”

“A jukebox? Uh, no. I don’t think we’ve progressed that far. We’ve had other things on our minds.” He tried to recall if Julian had mentioned anything in his reports. Nothing. But then he hadn’t been going over Asha’s bio, gleaning small details with the same intensity that he had Raven’s.

“Well, there’s one in The Windmill. That’s a—”

“A restaurant Asha owns,” Trev supplied.

“Yes. It has a Wurlitzer, and the thing is loaded with songs mostly from nineteen sixty-four. When my mum was alive, I spent my summers in Kentucky, thus I’ve heard ‘Leader of the Pack’ a time or three.” Her huge eyes flashed in challenge. “So, Mr. Tall, Dark and Mysterious, are you going to tell me where your path crossed my sister’s? I shall get it out of Raven anyway. She never keeps secrets from me.”

The corner of Trev’s mouth lifted in a faint taunt. “She didn’t tell you about me, did she?”

Paganne tilted her head side to side, weighing that. “Possibly there was simply nothing to tell—until you magically appeared from out of nowhere, like some knight in shining armor. Whatever your reasons, you presented Raven with the way to save face before Jerkoff. That alone earns you a merit badge in my eyes.” She turned and poked an index finger into Trev’s chest. “Be that as it may, you hurt her and I shall take a knife to you.”

Trev couldn’t resist. “You mean that Pictish knife your grandmother gave you when you turned twenty-one?”

Astonishment filled her features. Paganne’s brown eyes widened and she stared, clearly reevaluating her opinion of him. Her mouth opened to say something, but he could tell she was nonplused. Then those eyes narrowed on him, and it felt as though she could see inside his black heart.

“I’m not sure I like you, Trevelyn Sinclair. You’re like
some big alpha wolf that’s taken human form, looked my sister up and down and licked your chops, viewing her as your next meal. If that’s your game, think thrice. It’s a dangerous one.”

“They’re about to start the bidding on my pony!” Brishen said, returning to Paganne’s side. Leaning a little forward, he checked their faces. One black brow lifted, a silent comment about Paganne’s grip on Trev’s arm.

Wickedly Paganne winked at Trev, and then looked back at the Gypsy. “You jealous?”

“He stands beside you, pretty Paganne, but his eyes stay glued on our Raven.” Brishen gave a small nod. “It does you good, for a change, to have a man not fall at your feet.”

After Cian introduced the rocking horse, listing all the details that made the item a one-of-a-kind treasure, Raven left the auction area. A tension released in Trev: He’d been afraid he’d pushed her too far earlier and destroyed the progress he’d made getting close to her. But she threaded through the people and straight to his side, linked her arm through his and then tilted forward to frown at her little sister.

Paganne was unrepentant, holding his other arm. “Chill, sis. Just testing. He passes. No rust or dirt on this armor.”

“Does anyone want to open the bidding?” the auctioneer called out, running his gaze around the room.

“Hush, jealous women. They’ve started,” Brishen chided. He was joking, but suppressed anxiety was apparent on his face.

A man to the right bid five hundred pounds. Another raised the total to seven. A woman made it eight. Then, to the left, a man called for one thousand. Trev knew without looking who had made the offer; Raven’s hand had spasmed on his arm. Those nervous fingers relaxed when a fourth man chimed in offering twelve hundred, which was quickly raised to fifteen from someone in the back.

The very pregnant Ellen Beechcroft nudged her husband, who sang out loudly, “Two thousand!”

Once again, Raven’s fingers bit into Trev’s muscles. Trev glanced to the side to see her expression. She was maintaining a serene mask, and likely most people didn’t notice her agony, but it was clear to him.

The auctioneer glanced around. “Do I hear twenty-one hundred? This item is a dream come true for that special child. Imagine their bright eyes when your little tyke awakens Christmas morn to see this heirloom-quality rocking horse. Priceless!”

The crowd seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next bid. There was only silence and the storm outside.

Her hand on her basketball-shaped belly, Ellen Beechcroft grinned and hugged her husband, and the pompous bastard puffed up his chest as if he were buying her the Hope Diamond. In an odd way, Trev felt sorry for her. He wondered if she had any idea Beechcroft wasn’t buying the horse for their baby, but to show off in front of Raven and her family. The man was grandstanding.

“Any more bids? Come, come! This lifelike horse is handcrafted, with silver fittings for bridle and stirrups. The eyes are deep blue opals, alone valued at twice the current bid. This is a gift for your children today and for their children tomorrow. A truly rare treasure. But, no further bids? Very well. Going once…”

Raven vibrated, the tremor moving through her hand and into Trev’s arm. At the corner of her eye was an unshed tear.

“Going twice…”

Ellen Beechcroft bounced on her feet, giddy with anticipation.

“Five thousand!” Trev called out, causing all heads to turn—including Raven’s. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering. Her expression was so poignant, something inside Trev’s chest shifted, and he experienced a tightness he’d never before known.

“The gentleman offers five thousand pounds. Obviously a man who understands dreams.” The auctioneer nodded, pleased. “Do I hear six? If I don’t hear six…going once—”

“Six,” Alec Beechcroft barked.

Trev was only warming up. “Seven!”

The auctioneer gave him a nod of approval. “Our lover of dreams says seven. Is there an eight?”

“Eight,” Beechcroft growled, glaring at Trev.

“If looks could kill.” Trev laughed—then upped the amount. “Ten!”

That elicited a ripple of murmuring through the crowd. People glanced between the two men determined to own the rocking horse.

Beechcroft’s face flushed red with anger. His wife’s mouth was hanging open, and she glanced uneasily toward Raven and then back to her husband, confused. She clearly wanted the horse, but not quite sure it was worth this rising price.

“Fifteen,” Alec countered, plainly set on winning.

But the bastard hadn’t run into a Mershan before. Mershans didn’t fool around. “Fifty thousand pounds!” Trev called out.
Let Beechcroft trump that.

The crowd gasped then began a loud hubbub, wondering who Trev was and if Alec would counter. Better sense not being his strong suit, the idiot fully intended on doing just that. He took a step forward and opened his mouth, but his wife caught his sleeve and jerked, hard. Strident words were traded by the couple, and Beechcroft didn’t tender a counterbid. The auctioneer looked at him. Alec’s mouth compressed into a deep frown, but finally he gave his head a shake.

“Going once at fifty thousand pounds. Twice.
Sold
—to the gentleman who cherishes dreams.” The auctioneer touched his fingers to his forehead in a salute. Part of the crowd clapped to say well done.

Raven hugged Trev’s arm and leaned against him, almost hiding her face. After a moment she lifted her gaze to him. Tears were still in her eyes, but they were tears of happiness. Again, he became lost in her glistening gaze, to the point everything else simply faded away. As the crystalline droplets streaked down her cheeks, his hand raised to gently cup her exquisite face. Trev brushed the fallen tear away with his thumb pad—craved to kiss them away.

Paganne tugged on his other arm, drawing his attention. “I could kiss you!” she said.

“Forget you—
I’m
going to kiss him!” Brishen stepped in front of Paganne and did just that. He grabbed Trev in a bear hug and then planted a noisy kiss on the side of his face. “Do you know what you just did?”

Trev chuckled, unsure. “Bought a wooden horse, I presumed.”

“You just made me the artist of a rocking pony that sold for fifty thousand pounds! That puts me on the map. You might be a
Gadjo,
but you’re a damn pretty one. Maybe you have a little Roma blood in your beautiful veins, after all, eh?”

Trev reflected upon what the sale meant to Sagari, though he hadn’t considered it during the bidding. Artists and antique dealers coveted high sales, for they set the bar for future asking prices. “You’re welcome—but to keep gossip down, please hold the kisses,” he joked.

Cian rushed over and took Trev’s hand, giving a firm shake of respect; this time there was no power play. “Well, if it were Christmas I’d call you St. Nick. You really gave our stalwart vampire killer a big boost.” He handed Brishen a business card. “Lee Grey-Morton, the auctioneer, wants to talk to you once the auction is settled. He has connections to galleries in London and Manchester that might be interested in doing a one-man show for your carousel ponies and rocking horses. He says they’re
very big in part of the Middle East. Sheiks have deep pockets, and seem to have an appetite for that sort of work.”

Raven squeezed Trev’s arm. “Trevelyn, I need to go fix my face. Thank you so much for buying the horse. You did a very special deed, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor.”

Trev nodded, reluctant to let her escape from the magic of the moment. “Hurry back. I’d like to get a couple slow dances in before the evening is over.”

Lee Grey-Morton walked up and introduced himself, shaking Trev’s hand and congratulating him on his win. Reaching into his pocket, Trev pulled out a gold business card case, instructing him to bill the office, and that a bank draft would be issued first thing in the morning; the horse could be delivered to that address as well. The grayhaired man turned next to Brishen and began discussing his work, how he thought he could get a show lined up for the Gypsy, and that once there were some sales and attention he might bring the items into a Manchester gallery—or possibly London.

Cian turned to Trev and grinned. “I’m warming to your style, Sinclair. You spiked Alec’s guns twice tonight, quite effectively both times. Get Raven to bring you to supper at Colford…soon.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Trev replied with mixed emotions. This had been his objective from the start: get close to Cian Montgomerie to monitor if Cian was aware that someone was quietly buying up Montgomerie Enterprises stock. That part of the plan was heading in the right direction. However, Trev admitted, he now owned a grudging curiosity to see Raven in a family situation, and that had nothing to do with his brothers’ goals.

Clearly still stunned, Brishen watched the auctioneer stride away. “I am so
didlo.
”

Paganne grinned. “You just made a big splash, having your pony go for a king’s ransom. How does that make you crazy?”