Gypsy Jewel (23 page)

His words sounded a faint alarm in April, who, though young, was not easily led astray by pretty phrases. “But surely you must have a lovelier wife hidden away somewhere,” she said.

Her words, though in jest, made his eyes darken. With a deep sigh he sat again across from her and said, “No, no wife … not even any illegitimate children I can claim for my own. Mine is an isolated life at best. When I was younger I kept the courts gossiping, but of late, my thoughts have stayed at home. I daresay I shall remain a bachelor to the end of my days.”

“I find it hard to believe there hasn’t been someone special to you, Vasili,” she said softly. He saw then that he had struck a chord of sympathy in her gentle heart.

Thinking of Ekaterina, and her very likeness across from him right now, Ivanov said carefully, “There was once. I would have done anything for her. She knew it.”

“And?”

“She took advantage of it. She never loved me, I know now. Still, it is hard for a man set in his ways to accept such a fact.”

“How sad,” April said, and Vasili glanced sharply at her, but saw she was not mocking him. This girl had a heart, where her predecessor had none. How strange indeed that April should be the spitting image of a wicked woman like Katya, but her soul seemed untarnished as the snow outside.

“What happened?” she pressed him gently.

“She left me for another. Disappeared, left the country, who knows? She was an ambitious girl and always wanted to whirl in higher court circles. I’m certain she and her lover were well-received abroad.”

April thought it wretched of the girl to desert the poor count like that. “Perhaps you are better off without someone like her,” she said.

“No doubt you are right. However, it doesn’t ease the pain much. So many years — and yet it seems like yesterday.”

Seeing the sadness in his eyes, April hastened to change the subject. “What a lovely room this is,” she said brightly. “It looks as if it was specially prepared. But surely not just for me? There are clothes here …”

“For her,” Ivanov said abruptly. “This had been made ready for a bridal suite.” He looked morose at the memory, and April was horrified by her own carelessness.

“Of course I won’t touch anything,” she assured him quickly.

“But you misunderstand me, April.” He smiled sadly, his dark eyes intent on her. “I want you to erase all memory of her for me. By wearing these clothes, these jewels.” He gestured to a silken box on the vanity that she had not yet opened. “I wish to be your benefactor. Yours, and Damien’s. I intend to be very generous with you both, and I am going to present you at court.”

April flushed, not knowing what to say. Surely it was too generous of the count, and she did not want to take advantage of his depressed state. It seemed he had not let go of his lost love yet. Poor man. She did want to cheer him.

“I will perform at court if you wish, but I ask nothing for the privilege,” she said. “I know Damien will feel the same way, after I explain —”

“You must say nothing to him of this.” Suddenly, Ivanov’s mood changed from melancholy to outraged.

Seeing her alarm, he calmed, but said firmly, “No, this must be between us alone. I do not want your husband to feel obliged or insulted by my hospitality. And the story of my fiancée — well, it too must be our little secret.”

“But why? He is a sensitive man, he would understand —”

Ivanov shook his head vigorously. “You are sweet, my dear, to be so concerned for me, but I prefer my private life to remain private. It was my own foolishness to confess my feelings over that girl.”

“But,” April said, “how will I explain to him wearing these fine clothes and jewels? He will wonder at our relationship.” And she laughed a little uneasily at the thought.

Ivanov had also thought ahead. “Tell him it is my gift to you both. My family coffers cannot support straight funds at present, so I have substituted these heirlooms instead in payment for your combined services. He will no doubt mutter at first, but the jewelry is quite valuable in itself.”

What the count said made sense. Still, she wondered if Damien would accept the arrangement. He was doubtlessly as practical as the real Romany and would demand cash up-front.

Cautiously April said, “Let me ease it to him. It would come better from me, I think. He knows I didn’t want to come to Samarin House, and a change of attitude would surprise and probably please him.”

“You didn’t wish to visit me?” Ivanov looked surprised and a little hurt. “Why not?”

April pressed her lips together for a moment, debating whether to confess her antagonism toward Pavel or not. Finally she said, “I was a little suspicious of Pavel’s motives. Oh, I know it sounds silly now, but he frightens me a little.”

Ivanov did not laugh. He well knew the dwarf’s hatred of women. “Do not worry, April,” he said gravely. “Pavel is in my employment and subject to my orders. He will not dare to upset you in any way.”

“Thank you, Vasili,” she whispered, obviously relieved.

“But now, my dear, I think I must leave you to your beauty rest. In the morning I will send Zofia with a tray. It will be very cold after the fire goes out and you will wish to stay under the furs. You are welcome to sleep as late as you wish. Your husband and I will discuss our plans in my study in the morning.”

She nodded, suppressing a sudden yawn. “Thank you for the food. And for your kindness.”

Ivanov merely smiled, pausing only to gather up the tray and look after her one last time. He saw April was almost asleep, surrounded by the rich sable throw over which her golden hair flowed like a mantle. He hoped she would fare better than Ekaterina in this house. And now that she was here, there was no room for the ghost of the other.

So decided, he quietly departed and went to remove the painting hanging in the library. In the morning, when Zofia went to dust, she was relieved to find she no longer had to endure the haunted gaze of Ekaterina gazing accusingly down on her head.

D
AMIEN WAS UNEASY.
H
E
had not intended to stay overnight in the count’s mansion, nor be parted from his wife for a single minute. Though he was sure April was safe, something about Ivanov’s manner bothered him. Not that the man was dangerous, for he was sure he would have seen that potential immediately, but for an aristocrat he certainly kept strange company.

Pavel, for instance, and now a pair of gypsies. Even Ivanov’s servants, the few Damien saw running such a large estate, were a furtive lot. Tight-lipped Zofia, who had brought him his dinner on a tray, had not bothered to linger or to see further to his comforts.

It was possible the woman was only afraid of gypsies, but Damien did not think so. Pavel was far more intimidating for all his tiny stature than either he or April. No, there was something else, something very insidiously wrong beneath the smooth veneer of Samarin House.

Damien decided that first night to check on April. He knew better than to alert the count to his intents, and he slipped out of his chamber to silently pursue his own course.

To his dismay, he found the chamber April had initially been given on their arrival was empty. It was closed and cold and obviously uninhabited this eve. Suppressing a sudden surge of foreboding, Damien tried to recall what Ivanov had said earlier. Something about a gold room. Where would that be?

A half-hour later, after cautiously testing a series of doors and peeking into chambers, he found himself upstairs and frantic with worry. So far, he had not found so much as a golden hair to attest to April’s presence. But he sensed she was near.

Luckily, the fourth door upstairs was that of the Gold Room. He cursed himself for not having spied it sooner, for it was draped round with a shimmering gold curtain roped back with thick silken tassels.

Not bothering to knock, he cracked the door and looked in. Only the fire highlighted the shadows, revealing a massive four-poster bed and a small sitting room. Damien tiptoed in and found his wife slumbering upright in a chair.

A relieved smile crossing his lips, he went forward and stopped to admire the view. April looked like a delicate porcelain figurine set against the velvet-flocked backdrop of the room. The entire chamber was done in glittering, garish shades of gold. The bed was a hedonistic altar of saffron silk sheets and gold-fringed curtains, the oak headboard carved with cherubs and twined ribbons and hearts.

There was a plush bear rug before the smoldering fire, and a series of romantic Flemish tapestries concealing the cold stone walls. But for all its decadent beauty, Damien could not shake the feeling it was a prison of sorts.

He moved to scoop April up in his arms, soothing her restless murmurs with his own gentle ones. Though wrapped in priceless sable, she felt cold. He carried her to the bed and deposited her gently there, grabbing another lynx throw and one of pale beige wolf to cover her with.

For some reason Damien decided to linger, and paused to brush back golden strands from her face. It was then, startled from her dreams by something else, April opened her green eyes wide with fright.

“Ssh, love, it’s only me.” Damien didn’t know why he whispered, but he felt he was doing something forbidden by visiting his own wife in the night. “I’ve been worried about you.”

April shook her mind free of cobwebs and sat up against the silk pillows. “I’m fine. I fell asleep by the fire, I guess.” She shivered as she looked around the room lit with shadows now. “It’s terribly cold in here.”

“The fire died down. There’s wood enough here to fix it. I’ll do that before I leave.”

“Leave?” Her eyes were suddenly frightened. “Why can’t you stay here with me?”

“Ivanov —” Damien began, then corrected himself tersely. “Why not, indeed? My wife needs to be kept warm. And if he doesn’t like it, he can go bay at the moon.”

April giggled as Damien impatiently tugged off his clothes and slid beneath the covers beside her. He reached for her, then recoiled at the fluff around her neck. “What is that thing?”

“A very elegant wrapper which you are trying to ruin,” she huffed.

“Well, get it off. All this fur revolts me. What a waste of beautiful animals.”

Soberly April peeled off the wrapper and tossed it aside into the darkness. Naked, she snuggled next to the warm body of her husband. “The count wants to see you in the morning,” she said sleepily against his chest.

“I know. The sullen stick of a maid informed me of that earlier.”

“Zofia? I don’t think she likes gypsies.”

“Who cares? We are Ivanov’s guests, not hers. It is not up to a servant to like or dislike the master’s choice of company.”

April was silent a moment. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

Damien caught his breath. He would have to be more careful. April was an intelligent young woman. “Where I come from there is a great deal of nobility,” he replied offhandedly, hoping that would satisfy.

“Where you come from — France. Oh, Damien, will you ever take me there? I want to see the place where you were born.”

He smiled in the darkness at her sweetly wistful words. “Maybe someday. But now all I wish to do is get warm. Brr, woman, you have icicles for toes.”

“And you have one very large icicle yourself,” she tossed back tartly, and he grinned as he rolled onto her with his libido fully awakened.

Yet within moments, something in the strange gold room cut through Damien’s passion like a finely-honed knife. The air was cooler than in any other room he had prowled through, and the atmosphere was oddly oppressive.

“Why did Ivanov put you in here?” he asked April abruptly, halting their lovemaking.

She was puzzled by his question. “I don’t know. I imagine because it was larger than the one downstairs.” She started to tell Damien about the count’s lost love, then remembered her promise not to embarrass their host.

“But it’s not. And it’s definitely not any warmer. I don’t like this room.” He suddenly sat up and gazed around at the long shadows streaming down gold-shot walls. “There’s something wrong with it.”

“Now who sounds like a superstitious gypsy?” April teased him, and touched his arm entreatingly. “Lie down and get some rest.”

Slowly Damien complied. But it was a long time before he could close his eyes that night, and longer still before he slept.

T
HE SOUND OF HIS
study door opening and closing prompted Count Ivanov to look up, although he fully expected the man who stood before him.

Damien wore his dress costume from the night before. He wasted no time on pleasantries, saying, “I hope you have good news for me. If not, April and I will be leaving this morning.”

“I must admire a man who is direct,” Ivanov said, motioning his guest to the chair facing him. Reluctantly Damien sat, but he could not help noticing that Ivanov cut a dashing figure in a peacock-blue morning coat and striped gray trousers. The count was no young buck, but neither was he wasting away here at his isolated estate.

“There is money to be made elsewhere,” Damien said. “So far, I have seen no sign of it here.”