The Count From Wisconsin (4 page)

Kate almost moaned aloud as the sensations that had disturbed her in the garden were redoubled. His whispered message touched more than her brain and the crazy tingling became violent shivers as she fought the pull of his nearness.

I'm in trouble, she thought wildly. Deep, deep trouble. She didn't know how to fight this kind of attraction. Until she met him she hadn't even known such a thing could exist.

Staring mutely into his dark eyes, she silently begged for a release from the hold he had on her. His hand traveled from her neck to her shoulder, and although she told her body to move away it moved into the caress.

The struggle going on inside her brought a sheen to her eyes and she closed them, murmuring, "No . . . please."

Then, just when she thought that nothing could save her from the incredibly intense emotions welling up Inside her, they heard a shout outside the pantry and he looked away from her, muttering "Damnation!" under his breath before he went to the door.

Kate sagged against the wall, feeling drained of energy and emotion. She had to get away. She couldn't allow this to happen again. If It were merely physical attraction she felt for him, she could have handled it. But what she'd experienced was no mere physical thing. It was a strength-sapping voodoo spell. It took away her identity and she wasn't ashamed to admit that it frightened her.

As she slowly gained control of her emotions, Kate became aware of the altercation taking place in the kitchen. Walking to the door, she saw Alex trying to separate two of Moustafa's helpers while the small chef waved his hands frantically in the air.

She didn't give herself time to think; without a backward glance she strode out the way they had come in and within minutes she was in the garden again, running breathlessly toward the front gate.

It was only later that it occurred to her he never explained about the time in jail that didn't count. And it was much later that she began to wonder about why he had attracted her so much . . . and about the uncharacteristically hysterical way she had run from that strange attraction.

Alex leaned back in the leather chair, stretching his legs out before him as he stared moodily into the brandy that was left in the large crystal snifter. He glanced up as a tall black man entered the study.

"The king is in his counting house," the man quipped, then added, "drinking hundred-year-old brandy. So how did the soiree go, Count?"

Alex laughed as he threw out a casual vulgarity. "They ate everything in sight and there were the usual number of drunks to carry out. I suppose that means it was a success." He paused, frowning. "Paul, what the hell am I doing here?"

"Living the good life?" his friend offered, then at Alex's vicious expletive he sobered. "You know what you're doing here. And at one time you thought it was worth it. Have you changed your mind?"

"No." He sighed roughly. "No, I guess not. It's just that. . . I'm beginning to think I'll never get back to the real world." He glanced away and said slowly, "I don't like people thinking I sit around all day spending money and avoiding honest labor."

"People?" Paul said skeptically. "Since when have you been worried about what people think?"

Alex accepted the knowing look in his friend's eyes. "You're right," he said. "It's one particular person I'm worried about. She doesn't like counts, Paul." He swirled his brandy and studied the liquid in motion. "She didn't exactly say she didn't like them, but I could sense a hesitancy. I was just wondering if she would like me better if I were still merely the owner of a construction company."

Paul raised his brows in interest. "You met someone tonight? Here?"

Alex nodded, taking in his friend's sudden alertness.

"How do you know she's not part of this business?" Paul asked carefully.

Alex thought of the way Kate had evaded his questions about being at the party and frowned, then he shook his head slowly. "No, she doesn't have anything to do with all that. I'm sure of it."

"You don't sound too sure."

"Well, I am," he said brusquely. "The only thing I'm not sure of is if I'll see her again. I have her name and this is not exactly a place where she can easily hide, but when I find her, will she see me?" He smiled grimly. "I want to see her again . . . and again and again."

Alex glanced up to find his friend shaking his head and gave a disgusted laugh. "So what do you think, my friend? Do you think I can pull it off?"

Paul laughed. "That's like asking 'How deep is a well?' I have to know a little more about it, but if it makes you feel any better, there's always a chance that anything can happen. After all, the Church finally pardoned Galileo."

Alex stared at his friend silently for a moment. "As a matter of curiosity, how long was Galileo in the can before he got his pardon?"

"Oh, about three hundred and fifty years or so." Paul laughed.

"Thanks," he said dryly, rising slowly to his feet. "But I don't think I'm prepared to wait that long."

"Now I really am curious. I've never seen you this disturbed about a female," Paul said slowly. "Who is this wonder woman?"

Alex smiled. " 'Plain Kate,' " he quoted. " 'And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst. But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom.' "

He fell silent for a moment, then grinned in secret satisfaction and murmured, "And just maybe I am he born to tame you, Kate.''

Three

Kate carried her coffee to the open terrace door, quietly absorbing the beautiful morning. Moving a few steps out onto the terrace, she wondered why, after staying up most of the night sketching, she felt as refreshed as if she had had the prescribed eight hours. Perhaps it was the feeling she had awakened with—a strange expectancy, as though the next act of her life was about to begin.

Leaning against the stone wall, she shook off the fanciful thought and cast her mind back to the tricks her demon creative forces had played on her in the early hours of the morning.

Maybe she'd been overly confident about her idea for the new cartoon. It had seemed so very simple. She would use the mania for soap operas that was sweeping the United States, capturing it in cartoon form.

But she was finding that it was anything but simple. Every time she began to outline and sketch, her pen took her in a different direction. She couldn't seem to draw the elegant characters she had seen the night before—at least not in a serious vein. She hadn't intended to do caricatures. But the characters she was working on were saying and doing things that were totally off-the-wall.

Oh well, Kate thought, shrugging. She would figure it all out somehow. She always did. In a week's time she would be back at her drawing board in Texas, getting down to some serious work, and this would seem like a dream.

She straightened to inhale deeply of the crisp morning air, gazing out at the splendor before her. The sun was rising with breathtaking force, splashing brilliant colors onto the houses on the side of the hill.

Turning sideways, she watched as Heather joined her on the terrace. "Oh, heavens, how I love this place." Kate sighed, gesturing exuberantly. The golden braid hanging down her back swung gaily across her shoulder as she turned back to the view. "Even the urban blight here Is picturesque. It's all so foreign ... so un-Texas."

Heather laughed. "The urban blight is not picturesque close up, but I know what you mean. I adore it."

Kate glanced back at her friend's lovely, animated face. Heather had been her closest friend for as long as she could remember. Together they had lost their front teeth, bought their first bras, and agonized over their first loves. It seemed strange to be meeting her now in this exotic country. So much had happened since they had last met and yet, in a way, it seemed that they had never been apart.

Heather looked the same—petite, dark, and bubbly. Kate sometimes felt that no matter how much the world changed around them. Heather would remain the same.

The small woman moved to sit at the white wicker table. "Where did you disappear to last night?" she asked, leaning back lazily.

Kate moved to join her friend at the table, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "I went hunting ... in very exclusive hunting grounds," she said, grinning in remembrance.

The brunette's green eyes grew bright with interest. "Does it have anything to do with the bundle of mail you collected yesterday?"

"When did you get so clever?" Kate asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. "You're right. It has everything to do with that. Three more newspapers canceled my strip. I'm being dropped like a hot rock by every newspaper except the ones that don't count."

"I don't believe it," Heather said with stubborn loyalty.

"Believe it," she said, sighing as she stared up at the bright blue sky. "Deep down I knew it was coming. My characters were getting stale." She grimaced. "I just don't have the enthusiasm for it that I used to. I thought about revamping it, but now I think that's the wrong way to go."

"Why worry about it? Why not stay with us for a few months?" Heather asked enthusiastically. "It's not as though you need the money. You've still got what your parents left you and the money from the cartoon. You must have been socking it away for years; this is the first time I've known you to spend any money on yourself."

She shrugged. "I have everything I need."

"You see what I mean," Heather said in exasperation. "How about what you want? You live as though you don't know where your next meal is coming from and you're probably Plum's wealthiest citizen."

Kate threw her a skeptical glance. "That's really saying a lot. When I'm at my place in Dallas the wealthiest person in Plum is then Mr. Jackson at the gas station."

"Does he still have the gas station?" Heather asked, then grinned when her friend began to laugh. "Okay, so maybe being the richest person in Plum is not wonderful, but you've got to admit, you're comfortable."

Comfortable, Kate mused, seeing a rich man's pantry in her mind's eye. She had her house in Plum, a town house in Dallas, and money in the bank for her old age. But comfortable was a long way from a mansion in Monte Carlo. Sullivan was a long way from Delanore and light years away from de Nuit.

Of night. How appropriate for a man who had appeared to her in the darkness of night. She didn't want to think about that dance under the stars. Her reactions to a total stranger were too much of a puzzle for her puny brain.

But later in the pantry, her feelings were recognizable. There had been an immediate rapport between them that she knew from experience was rare. They had been on the same wavelength. At least they had been until he had revealed his identity. She still found it hard to believe the man she had laughed with was a member of the Belgian nobility.

Ah well, she thought, sighing. It would be something to tell her grandchildren about, a moment of excitement to remember when she was home and life returned to normal.

Normal, she thought with a grimace. Somehow, after last night, normal didn't sound very inviting. Would she spend the rest of her life waiting for that next act to begin?

"Hey, are you listening?"

"I'm sorry," Kate apologized, glancing up to find Heather staring at her in exasperation. "What were you saying?"

"I said, where were you last night? You left here yesterday with a funny look in your eyes, then I heard you come in at two o'clock this morning. I don't want to play mother, but where were you?"

Kate widened her eyes in exaggerated surprise. "And what were you doing up at two in the morning?"

Incredibly, Heather blushed. "Evan came home last night," she said, smiling shyly.

"Oh, he did, did he? And where is the poor man this morning?" Heather's husband, Evan Martin, had been out of the country since a week before Kate's arrival in Monte Carlo. And even after six years of marriage, Heather still seemed a little lost without him. "Still to bed recuperating from your welcome?" Kate teased.

"He left for work early," she explained, then grinned wickedly. "I don't think he got too much sleep, though." She glanced up suddenly. "Now stop avoiding my question. Where were you?"

"I spent a fortune on a ridiculous dress and hairdo and"—she fluttered her own pale eyelashes— "false eyelashes, and I went to a party."

Heather stared at her in surprise. "Why didn't you let me see you?" she complained, then leaned forward. "What did your dress look like . . . something really sexy, huh?"

"Sexy?" Kate mused. "Yes, I guess you could say that. In fact, I felt very daring until I got close enough to see what some of the other women were wearing. I swear, Heather, one of them looked like she was wearing nothing more than a little artfully draped saranwrap."

"You idiot!" Heather exclaimed. "You've been buried in your cartoons too long. It's about time—" Suddenly she paused. "Wait a minute . . . whose party? Why wasn't I invited?"

Kate took a leisurely sip of coffee, then glanced at her friend with a gleam of mischief in her brown eyes. "I wasn't invited. I crept in so slickly you would have been amazed." She paused, then said slowly and clearly. "I crashed the Comte de Nuit's grand society bash."

Heather choked on her coffee. "You what?"

Kate stood and walked to the balcony. "I had an idea I could get some material for a new strip." She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. "Kinda weird, huh? Somehow at the time it seemed reasonable."

"Reasonable," Heather echoed in a dazed voice. "Reasonable?" She gave an abrupt shout of musical laughter. "I don't know why I'm so surprised." She shook her head, her dark hair bouncing in lively curls. "On the surface you're so sane and practical, but every so often something comes over you and you're convinced that you can manipulate the world around you to suit your own purposes."

Heather sighed and gave her friend a chastising glance, then as though she couldn't help it she grinned. "Well. . . did you? Get any material, I mean? And more important, did you meet anyone interesting?"

Interesting? Kate thought, smothering a short laugh. How about fascinating? How about sexy enough to knock your socks off?

She shook her head at the memory, knowing she would never speak of the man she had met under the stars. She glanced back at her impatiently waiting friend.

"Oh, yes," Kate said with dry humor. "I met a man who blew in my ear all night and said things in French I'm glad I couldn't understand."

Heather leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. "That sounds intriguing. Who was he?"

"I dont remember," Kate said, shrugging. "And he wasn't intriguing. Believe me, I've met a lot of human beings in my life and he wasn't among them. When he first attached himself to me, I mistakenly thought he would introduce me to the people whom I had gone there to meet. It didn't take me long to figure out that he wanted to introduce me to things that had nothing to do with society ... at least not the kind of society I know about." She wiggled her eyebrows expressively.

Heather smiled. "Come on. He can't be the only man you met the whole night. Alexandre Delanore's guest lists for parties are always impressive. You should have met a ton of men."

"I might have met them if I had been able to see them, but unfortunately I had to leave my glasses in my purse." She grinned. "They didn't exactly go with the little gold dress. And besides," she added, "my false eyelashes kept knocking them off."

"You're crazy. Crazy and wonderful," Heather said, then inhaled in happiness. "I'm so glad you're here, Katy," she said exuberantly. "I've missed you."

"Sure you have," Kate said skeptically. "Evan treats you like a princess, you live in a minivilla in the most romantic country in the world and hobnob with the rich and the famous . . . sure you missed me."

"Well, I have," she said. Then she let out a shriek. "Evan! Omigosh, we're supposed to meet him in the Old City for lunch." She jumped to her feet. "If we're going to visit the Oceanographic Museum before then, I've got to get dressed now."

Kate laughed. Even disasters were embraced enthusiastically by her petite friend. Giving a last, lingering glance at the scenery, Kate moved to follow Heather and prepare for the sightseeing and lunch that were planned.

Only cars owned by permanent citizens could enter the city of Monaco, so Heather and Kate took a cab to the Old City, but even with all the rushing they had done they hadn't allowed enough time to see all that the museum contained.

Kate hated rushing through the exhibits, but let her friend set the pace. She was allowed to catch her breath only after they were seated at a table in the center of a small, elegant restaurant.

Kate glanced around the room, then turned her gaze back to Heather. "I don't think I've thanked you yet for asking me to stay with you," she said warmly. "I only hope it isn't putting you out too much . . . because to tell you the truth I was getting sick of hotels."

"Don't be silly. We're so excited about having you. When I got your letter saying you were coming, I literally squealed," Heather said emphatically. "No, I mean it. Our next-door neighbor thought Evan was beating me."

Heather smiled wickedly as though the thought pleased her and Kate wondered again how two people as different as Evan and Heather had fallen in love.

Petite, dark-haired Heather had bees scatter-brained all her life—vivacious, good-natured, and outgoing, but still thoroughly scatterbrained. Tall, thin Evan was her exact opposite. He was quiet, introspective, and solid as a rock. When they had first met Heather had described him as being "so stable, he's positively inert." But somehow, against all odds, their marriage had worked beautifully. They were as much in love today as they had been when they married six years ago.

"Where is Evan?" Kate asked suddenly, interrupting Heather's enthusing.

"He said he would be a little late." She glanced down at her watch. "Da-yum." Heather still had the habit of emphasizing her more earthy expressions by giving them extra syllables. "Hell be here in a couple of minutes and I was going to put on a new face before he came." She stood up in a flustered motion. "You distract him until I get back."

"So Evan gets to see a new face, but a lifelong friend has to make do with the old," Kate said in indignation as her friend turned away.

Heather glanced back over her shoulder and grinned. "If you didn't cut me dead after I gave myself my first permanent, nothing will faze you." She patted her hair and added haughtily, "Evan still thinks I'm naturally beautiful and I don't want to disillusion him."

Kate watched Heather until she disappeared, then, her smile fading, glanced down at her hands. It was strange that she never thought of marrying until she was around Heather and Evan.

But it was always a passing thought, a small ache that was not easily pinpointed. Besides, she thought in a flash of uncomfortable insight, perhaps she was too selfish to be able to make a success of the kind of relationship her friends had.