Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5 (19 page)

She brooded intensely and began to think that since Dani was in trouble with her parents, and they would be occupied with her behavior, this might be a good time to convince Colt to marry her. Time was rushing by. How much longer could she remain a guest in the house or linger in Paris, for that matter? Already it was apparent that everyone was becoming concerned about why she did not send word to her uncle about his sister’s death and ask for money to replace what had been stolen from her. She was afraid that even Colt would want her to get in touch with him before they went on holiday in Spain, and what could she do? How much longer could she stall?

She chewed a fingernail in perplexity. Colt was fond of her. That much, she was sure of. He also desired her fiercely, but she doubted that he would marry her just to have sex. No, there had to be another motivation.

Her eyes narrowed, and had she been standing before a mirror at that precise moment, when the perfect scheme was born within her mind, she would have viewed herself as almost diabolical.

She rose from the table and made her way quietly to the closed doors of Mr. Coltrane’s study. No one saw her as she pressed her ear to the smooth, polished mahogany to eavesdrop.

‘‘I won’t have it, Colt!’’

“I’m a grown man.”

“First your sister wants to prove how independent she is by traipsing all over Europe alone, and now you want to take a holiday in Spain with a young woman, unchaperoned.”

“Don’t tell me you never went anywhere with a woman alone!”

“We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you—son of an American diplomat in Paris. Because of your social position, everyone watches everything you do. If you take Lily to Spain, you’ll be talked about…and not in a nice way. Do you want that?”

“I want to live my life the way I choose, without interference from you or anyone else.”

Lily smiled, brightened. Colt was standing up to his father, for her!

There was a long silence after Colt’s cold, blunt declaration. Lily could not imagine the reason, for she did not truly know Travis Coltrane so she could not know that when his patience was being sorely tried, he would become coldly silent as he struggled inwardly for self-control.

Nor could she see, for the moment, how the two men were glaring at each other.

Finally, Travis sighed, as though he’d been holding his breath for a long, long time. “Son,” he said quietly, almost regretfully, “did I interfere when you were living your own life and almost lost the entire family fortune?”

“How long have you been holding that back?” Colt shot back. “I suppose you’ve just been waiting for the right opportunity to throw it all up to me. No matter that everything turned out all right, and I got back almost every dollar Mason swindled me out of.”

“Wait a minute. I was only pointing out to you that you haven’t exactly demonstrated the ability to run your own life…yet.”

Lily decided to go to her room, not wanting to press her luck in escaping detection. What had Mr. Coltrane been talking about? How had Colt almost lost all their money? Her curiosity was piqued, but she told herself it wasn’t important. Obviously, Colt had
not
lost anything, and that’s all that mattered to her.

Lily removed her elegant dress and lacy undergarments. She took another bath, long, luxurious, lavished herself with perfume. She took out the expensive negligee she had persuaded the lecherous old Duke to buy for her…then refused to wear for him. Why should she waste something so immensely sensuous on a dirty old man who didn’t need enticing, anyway? She sniffed with disdain to think of all those repulsive evenings in his arms. No, she was not meant to be a mistress. It was going to be much nicer married to a handsome, charming man like Colt and be the epitome of ladylike elegance, welcomed in every circle of society and respected by all. And, she mused with a wicked little grin as she slipped on the white gossamer creation, she could still have little affairs and flings now and then, to ward off the boredom and doldrums of domestication.

She brushed her long golden hair down about her face, decided she liked the effect—childlike and innocent.

Innocent!

Suddenly, she felt a stab of sheer terror coursing up and down her spine. Innocent she was not! Colt was going to realize she wasn’t a virgin, and if she weren’t, then why would he feel obligated to marry her after he “seduced” her?

She began pacing up and down the room.

Well, she reminded herself, she was a good little actress. She could play the role of innocent virgin to the hilt and even an absence of evidence of her virginity she would make convincing.

Midway down the hall, between her quarters and Colt’s, there was a little alcove with a white velvet bench and an arched window that looked out on the gardens to the rear of the estate. During the day, it was a lovely place to sit, and at night, it was shadowy and dark—a perfect spot for her to keep an eye out for Colt.

Finally dressed in what she decided was her most enticing best, Lily stepped from her suite, and peered up and down the mellow-lighted hallway. There was no one about. Scurrying quickly, lest she run into someone, she went to the alcove and blended with the darkness and potted ferns to wait.

It was perhaps a half hour before Colt finally came up the stairs. Lily could tell by the expression on his face, as she spied him through the fern fronds, that he appeared to be quite vexed and a wee bit tipsy, as he stumbled a few times on the stairs.

She waited ten minutes longer, then, after checking to see that the way was clear, went to his door. She did not knock, merely turned the knob, breathed a sigh of relief that it was not locked, and stepped into the shadowed room.

The drapes were opened, and moonlight spilled through the windows. Colt had never invited her to his room, so she needed to familiarize herself lest she bump into anything.

She saw the bed—empty. Where was he? Then she heard a sound from another part of the room, so shadowed she could not make out anything there.

A figure emerged from the abyss of darkness, stepping into the moonlight, naked flesh bathed in silver.

Lily saw and gasped then, realizing he’d heard her, immediately went into her act and pretended to be sobbing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Colt, where are you?” she moaned in abject misery. “I can’t see…it’s so dark…I knocked, you didn’t hear me…please—”

“Lily? What the hell!” He turned on his heel abruptly, returned to his dressing room for a robe, then rushed to where she stood and folded her solicitously in his arms. “What are you doing here? Why are you crying?”

In a feathery, whimpering voice, she said, “Oh, I feel just awful. I know I’ve caused you so much trouble, and I’m terribly sorry. Your mother is angry with me…she just got up and walked out and left me all alone at the table, and I felt like such a fool, and your daddy has been fussing at you all evening. I feel so dreadful. I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I know your parents think I’m terrible, and there’s nothing for me to do but leave—”

“Nonsense! Stop crying, Lily, you’re just tired. Get a good night’s sleep, and—”

“No!” She pushed herself against him, made herself shudder from head to toe as though the idea of being alone this night was terrifying. “I had this awful, awful nightmare. I dreamed I went back to London, and when I got home, I had to tell my uncle about my aunt, and he just…”

She paused for effect, then released the words in a hysterical torrent. “He just dropped dead. Right in front of me. I tried to grab him, to keep him from falling, but I couldn’t, and he reached out for me, and he was crying, calling my name, and I couldn’t hold him up, and both of us fell, and there I was, sprawled on the floor with my dead uncle squashing me. Oh, Colt, it was horrible!” She began to weep uncontrollably as though she could not go on.

He patted her comfortingly, felt somewhat awkward with the situation—she in a flimsy next-to-nothing negligee, and he in a clinging silk robe that did nothing to hide the fact that her nearness was arousing him. “It was just a nightmare, Lily. A bad dream. Your uncle isn’t going to die when you tell him about his sister, and you aren’t leaving in the morning. So calm down, and–”

“No!” She flung her grins around his neck and clung tightly. “Don’t send me away, Colt. Please. I feel so terrible…so frightened. Let me sit here with you awhile, please. A glass of sherry, perhaps. I’ll be all right soon.”

He sighed, went to turn on lights, but she asked that he not. “The moonlight is soothing.”

There was light enough that he could make his way easily to the liquor cabinet, where he took out a bottle of sherry and two glasses. When he turned, he saw that she had moved across the room and was sitting on the side of his bed, still sniffling, shoulders shuddering with threatened sobs.

They each had a glass of sherry, then Lily pressed her head against his shoulder and pretended to be sleepy. “If you’ll just hold me for a moment and tell me you aren’t angry with me, I think I’ll be fine and can go back to my own room.”

“You know I’m not angry with you, Lily. And neither are my parents. They just don’t think like we do. A bit old-fashioned, I’m afraid. But everything will smooth out. It didn’t help that Dani had to blow up like she did, but she always was headstrong, hell-bent on having her own way. Now then…” He kissed her forehead. “Feel better?” he asked with a hopeful smile.

Lily twined her arm around his neck, brought his face down close to her waiting lips.

He did not hesitate.

With a groan from deep within, Colt’s mouth closed over hers, and they fell backward onto the bed.

Lily pulled back from the embrace long enough to whisper innocently, “I know it’s all right to be here with you, Colt. I know you’d never do anything to besmirch my honor—”

But Colt was not hearing her words as he moved on top of her.

He was not thinking of honor or any of those damned things.

He was merely a man.

An aroused man.

With a strong hunger.

And…for the moment, nothing else mattered.

Chapter Fourteen

Dani was talking with a customer when Drake entered the shop. At once, a warm thrill rippled through her, and she wondered if her cheeks were flushing. He smiled that lazy grin that set her heart to pounding, winked intimately, and indicated with a nod that she should just continue with her business. She noticed that he was carrying a large wicker basket and wore a very pleased-with-himself expression.

She turned to the woman beside her. “Excuse me. What were you saying,
Madame
Letoye?”

The woman, fiftyish, as rich as she was fat, stared almost transfixed at the painting displayed on the wall before them. Plump jowls jiggling as she talked, she explained that she was quite taken with the art piece, wanted to purchase it, but woefully added, “My dear, I am afraid you are just asking far too much for this one.” She gave her a nod of censure. “As a matter of fact, I should tell you that talk is going around that you are overpricing everything in your shop.

“Perhaps,”
Madame
Letoye went on to point out with a condescending little smile, “you are just too young and inexperienced to consider yourself a connoisseur…”

Dani felt the muscles along her jaw tense. With great effort, she made herself calmly respond, “I do not claim to be a connoisseur,
madame
, but I am a businesswoman. I do add to what I pay for my merchandise in order to make a profit. If I did not, then I would not stay in business very long, now would I?”

“Tut, tut!”
Madame
Letoye wagged a finger under her nose, the flesh hanging from her fat arms rippling in waves. Her mouth was turned up at the corners, but her eyes were narrowed little squints of indignation. “I’ve been around the world of art much longer than you, my dear, and I know pricing…and so should you
if you plan to stay in business,”
she added pointedly.

“
Mademoiselle.
” Drake approached Dani, setting the wicker basket aside. “How much are you asking for that painting?”

Both women turned, and it was
Madame
Letoye who spoke first, waspishly declaring, “Far too much, I can tell you that.”

He ignored the pompous woman, looked to Dani for a reply to his question.

“Sixty thousand francs.”

At once,
Madame
Letoye hooted. “You see? Sixty thousand francs for a Boucher! She must be out of her mind, or else she thinks because a Coltrane is selling it, that makes it worth more.”

Dani sucked in her breath, held it. She was seething. The woman was going too far!

“Perhaps,” Drake told the woman, “you do not appreciate Francois Boucher’s talent for female nudity. Take this offering, for example…”

He gestured to the painting admiringly. “Young and blonde…and
quite nude.
An intense vision of female sensuality.” He paused for effect.

Fat
Madame
Letoye sniffed with disdain.

Dani pressed her fingertips to her lips to suppress a giggle.

Drake continued. “When Boucher began painting his series of nude girls around 1751 or so, it was said that he was actually painting Louise O’Murphy, who, at that time, was a teenage prostitute kept by King Louis XIV when he became worried about contracting syphilis from a woman any older.”