Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5 (40 page)

He took one last look at his reflection in the full-length mirror. Dressed in a jacket of royal-blue velvet, tight elk-skin breeches, and an overcoat of black leather, he knew he looked extremely nice. Doubtless Dani would think so too. Perhaps, he mused, it was time to just forget about the painting, regard it as a myth, and concentrate on winning her heart. Then he could forget about a “find”, could even forget about seriously pursuing his career, because if he married into the Coltrane millions, he’d never have to work another day in his life.

He smiled at his reflection. Dani liked him. He was sure of it. True, she’d been busy on her own a few evenings since they’d arrived in Saint Petersburg, and he’d been miffed a time or two, but she was a Coltrane and it was only natural she’d be entertained by dignitaries now and then, and he wouldn’t be included. Still, once they were engaged, it would be a different story. He’d be accepted then.

He sighed with happiness just thinking how his life would be as the husband of Dani Coltrane. They would never want for anything, would travel the entire world like royalty. So, to hell with snobby old rich women nagging him to find them an exclusive painting to make their equally snobby friends envious, and to hell with crude little paintings with mysterious legends.

He was going to forget everything except the number-one priority in his life for the moment—making Dani his wife.

He picked up the little foil-wrapped box lying on the table. As soon as he’d received Dani’s handwritten note inviting him to supper in her quarters at the embassy, he’d visited the House of Fabergé on Bolshaya Morskaya Street to buy a special gift.

Peter Carl Fabergé himself had waited on Cyril. In 1870, at the age of twenty-four, he’d taken over the prestigious firm established by Gustav Fabergé in 1842. The House had grown steadily since, having been granted the Royal Warrant from Alexander III in 1885, after designing the first imperial Easter egg for the Empress Marie Feodorovna. In the same year, another honor was bestowed—a gold medal at the Nuremberg Fine Art exhibition for gold replicas of Scythian treasures. Then, in 1890, the premises in Saint Petersburg doubled in size, and another store was opened in Odessa.

Cyril was awed by the tiny gold brooch, not quite two inches in size, that Fabergé had offered him. In the form of a knotted bow of broad ribbon, it was enameled translucent pink over a moiré background and bordered with rose diamonds set in silver.

There had been no quibbling over price. In the House of Fabergé, one never asked price. The piece was taken “on approval” and either returned within a few days, or payment rendered upon inquiry as to amount.

Cyril knew the piece was expensive, and while he was certainly a man of moderate means, such a gift was not in his budget. However, he considered it an investment in his future. If Dani accepted it, chances were he’d eventually win her hand, and once that happened, money would never again be a problem. He knew he could stall Fabergé for payment by telling him his lady friend had not yet made up her mind as to whether she liked the piece. And if she flatly refused to accept it, well, he’d just return it.

Whistling happily, Cyril put the tiny package in his coat pocket and left.

Dani waited impatiently for Cyril, anxious for the evening to be over. She wished Colt could have joined them to help relieve some of the pressure, but he had declined without explanation, merely said, with a mysterious smile, that he had other plans. Dani had not probed, for she respected his privacy, and suspected there was a woman involved. Good. Perhaps he was coming out of his bitter cynicism of females.

There was a soft knock on the door, and she checked her appearance in the gilded mirror. Her dress of mauve satin, the scooped neckline edged in mink, was tastefully alluring.

She swung open the door, and Cyril stood smiling at her, shining eyes becoming glazed with desire as they swept over her.

“Lovely, as always, my dear,” he said, kissing her hand. Then, once they were inside, he gave her the present. “For you, because you’ve come to mean so much to me,” he murmured.

Dani groaned inwardly. She didn’t want any gifts from him. With effort, she made her voice pleasant. “Cyril, you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t necessary.” She laid the gift on the sideboard next to the door, dismissing it as she gestured to the array of crystal decanters and glasses. “Would you care for a drink before dinner?”

Cyril was bewildered. It was not like Dani to be ungracious. He’d not seen her in several days, not since she’d gone to the Imperial Ball and then to the ballet, but somehow, he sensed a disturbing change.

She was staring at him expectantly, her hand still extended to indicate the offering of liqueurs, whisky, and vodka.

“Ah, yes,” he said finally. “Schnapps would be nice. But don’t you want to open my gift?” With a wink, he added, “It’s from the House of Fabergé.”

She did not respond, merely busied herself pouring their drinks.

“Peter Carl Fabergé himself helped pick it out for you,” he continued. “You do know about the famed goldsmith to the Imperial Court of Russia, don’t you?”

Dani’s eyes narrowed. Oh, how she yearned to tell him just what she did know about the work of Fabergé!

With a tight smile, she said, “Yes, I do, and you’re very kind, Cyril, but I’ve always been shy about opening presents. Can it wait till after dinner?” She knew by then she would probably throw it in his face, so why go through the charade of pretending to be appreciative now?

Disappointed, he said he supposed that would be all right, then took the small glass of schnapps she offered, downed it in one, burning gulp.

Dani poured a brandy for herself, then indicated they should take a seat in the parlor.

Trying to dissipate the strange, tense mood that had somehow descended, Cyril mustered enthusiasm as he urged, “Tell me about your visit to the Winter Palace, and I’d also like to hear how you enjoyed the ballet.”

She was only too glad to oblige, relating every delightful detail.

Cyril pretended to be captivated, but all the while he was thinking about how truly lovely and desirable she was, how his arms ached to hold her, his lips burned to kiss her…

“Cyril, are you listening?” Dani asked, annoyed.

He nodded his head jerkily, embarrassed. “Yes, yes, do go on, please.”

There was a knock, and she stood, knew it was the waiter to serve the first course. “Never mind. It’s time to eat, anyway.”

Doggedly, he followed her into the dining alcove, noted with interest that it adjoined the bedroom. That would make it convenient should he be fortunate enough later to make her desire match his.

Dani dawdled with her soup while Cyril ate his quickly, wanting to have dinner finished as quickly as possible to dispense with the hovering servant. “Don’t you like it?” He indicated her nearly full bowl.

“I don’t eat as fast as you do, Cyril,” she replied tightly.

He blanched but said nothing, merely waited until she finished.

She was equally as slow with the other courses, hardly touching her food. Finally, when he had a second cup of coffee waiting for her to finish her entrée, he could not resist asking, “Is something wrong, my dear? Aren’t you enjoying your meal?”

She raised an eyebrow, looked at him as though he’d gone daft, snapped, “Whatever are you talking about? Just because I don’t gulp my food down like you do doesn’t mean anything is wrong.”

Cyril had had enough of her foul disposition. He met her fiery stare and demanded, “All right, Dani. Would you mind telling me why you invited me here tonight if you can’t be civil? You’ve been in a bad mood all evening. I brought you an expensive gift, and you don’t even show me the courtesy of opening it. Then you bite my head off every few minutes. If I’ve done something to offend you, tell me, so I can try to make amends. If I haven’t, then please stop being so uncivil.”

Dani struggled to keep from exploding. Oh, the nerve of him—looking so smug, so sanctimonious. No matter that he had stolen from her or that he’d attempted to ruin Drake’s chances of restoring honor to his family name in order to selfishly gain fame for himself. No matter that he nearly ended her relationship with a man she might love. Oh, no, Cyril thought he’d done nothing wrong, and his only concern for the moment was why she was treating him so coolly.

When Dani did not speak, Cyril began to feel uncomfortable. Icy fingers of apprehension had begun to dance along his spine. She was, he worriedly observed, staring at him with loathing. Why? What had he done? Was there some way she could have found out about his having taken the painting? No. There had to be another reason for her strange behavior—but what?

“Would you like me to leave?” he asked stiffly.

Dani silently acknowledged she would like that very much but could not take a chance on him discovering Drake in his apartment. Once the painting was found and in her possession, he couldn’t do anything. Until then, he could accuse Drake of burglarizing. They couldn’t risk that.

Finally, she bit out an apology. “I’m sorry. I must be tired. Shall we have dessert served in the parlor?”

Cyril was at once the epitome of concern. He nearly knocked over his chair in his haste to help her with hers. “Of course, of course. Let’s make ourselves comfortable in front of the fire.”

His gaze fell on the foil-wrapped box, and he quickly retrieved it and thrust it into her lap as she sat down on the divan before the crackling fire. “Open this, please,” he urged, sitting close beside her.

She moved away, hedged. “I told you, Cyril, you didn’t have to buy me a gift. I think it best you returned it.’’

“No. You have to see it, at least. Fabergé would be quite disappointed if he thought you weren’t impressed enough with his reputation that you’d not want to at least see his creation.”

Anything to pass the time! Dani gritted her teeth and ripped off the ribbon and paper with almost vengeance. But, lifting the lid of the tiny box, she could not help gasping at the sight of the exquisite brooch. “Cyril, it’s lovely,” she cried, holding it up to the light, fascinated by the way the tiny stones danced in the fire’s glow.

But the fascination was short-lived.

Replacing the brooch in the box, she held it out to him. “I can’t accept your gift.”

Cyril blinked, disappointed and confused. “But why not?”

“It isn’t proper.”

“Isn’t proper?” he echoed, laughing. “Why, my dear, what’s wrong with a gift between friends?”

“People might think it precedes a more serious announcement.”

He moved closer, slipped his arm around her shoulders, and huskily declared, “I hope so. I want our relationship to grow, Dani. I want to be more than your friend. Surely you know that by now.”

He saw the ominous flash in her eyes, felt the way she stiffened at his touch, yet felt compelled to plunge ahead and declare his feelings. “I love you, Dani, and I think you love me too. Why else would you have come on this trip? You wanted us to be together, to get to know each other better…”

Dani felt nauseous. Once, she might have entertained thoughts of romance with Cyril, albeit frivolous, for he was handsome, charming, good company. But since the discovery that he was a conniving sneak thief, she regarded him only with contempt, could hardly bear his company.

He tried to kiss her, clasping her face with his hands as she attempted to twist away. “Dani, please, please,” he begged, the heat of his desire making his breath ragged, his voice hoarse. “I only want to make you happy because I love you…I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. You must’ve known, and you must love me too—”

“I don’t love you!” With one mighty thrust, Dani tore from his arms and leaped to her feet to stare down at him, bosom heaving, as she gasped with incredulity. Oh, the arrogance! Did he really think she was so vulnerable? So easily manipulated?

Cyril, astonished by her reaction, also stood. Anger and humiliation began to wash over him as he realized that she could reject him so completely and intensely. “Then why did you invite me here tonight?” he demanded coldly. “I don’t appreciate being used, Dani, I—”

“You dare to accuse
me
of using
you
?” she cried, about to explode, then suddenly she commanded herself to be silent.
It was not time!
There had been no signal from Drake that his mission was successfully completed.

Cyril ran agitated fingers through his hair, lifted his chin slightly, attempting to maintain dignity as he tersely suggested, “Perhaps I’d best leave and return when you’re not in such a foul mood. Whatever’s bothering you, Dani, it’s not by my hand. I’ve never been anything but kind to you.” He snatched up the jewel box; if she continued to regard him with apparent contempt, he certainly wasn’t about to waste an expensive gift on her.

He started for the door.

Dani’s teeth ground together and her fists clenched as she watched him prepare to leave. She knew she could not allow it. Even if it meant enduring his kisses, she had to keep him there until she received word from Drake. Oh, damn Colt, she fumed silently, why couldn’t he have been here tonight?

“Cyril, wait—”

He turned, suppressing a smile at the look of desolation on her lovely face. “Have you thought of something else you can say to hurt me?”