The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove (16 page)

Audubon picked a rosebud from an arrangement on a sofa table, tucked it in the lapel of his black tuxedo, then realized his mistake and hurriedly laid the rosebud aside. He stared at vases filled with flowers all over the room. Good Lord, a disaster. The buds would burst into bloom; the blooms would widen until they looked as if they’d been mashed flat.

No. He’d forgotten—Elena had come to her senses. That had been clear last night. She hadn’t been swayed by him. She’d run. He’d let her go. Perhaps the flowers wouldn’t go wild tonight.

Depressed, he moved among his guests with the detached graciousness they knew well and didn’t misinterpret as arrogance. They understood he was happy to see them and welcomed them all. His home
had been their headquarters for many years, and each of them had worked there, even lived there briefly, at times.

The former agents were an entirely male group from the old days, and Audubon was always a little sorry he hadn’t begun hiring women until the past few years. He’d feared he’d worry about women agents more than men—an inescapable character trait of his, part masculine instinct, part upbringing. But the women he now employed had added a valuable perspective to the work; women were better negotiators, more likely to settle problems with words instead of force.

Or, in the case of Elena, likely to settle problems with a devastating
hands-on
power. He eyed the group with a startling new perspective; For the first time, he was glad they were all married and very much in love with their wives. His surge of possessiveness toward Elena would have caused tension, if there’d been an eligible bachelor among the group.

Elgiva entered the room, went to Douglas, who had not worked for Audubon but was essentially his partner, and he swept her up in his arms and kissed her several times while she laughed. Audubon had been waiting eagerly for Elgiva to come downstairs; now he had to force himself not to hurry over to her and demand information on Elena’s readiness.

Douglas was grinning with delight at everyone, even Audubon. Audubon’s mood snapped and he strode over to them. Babies. Married people. Loneliness. Elena. “What is she doing up there, plotting the next Russian Revolution? Is anything wrong?”

Elgiva gave him an exasperated look from her happy place in Douglas’s arms. “She’s ready. I told her you’d be coming up to escort her.” He nodded and pivoted to leave, but she grasped his sleeve. “Audubon, she’s so shy that she’s—I could swear that she’s
vibrating
. Oh, I know it sounds foolish, but she seems so nervous, no, not nervous, exactly. Agh! Go see for yourself. Maybe she’s coming down with a
fever. When I helped her put on her makeup, her face felt hot. You ask her if she’s all right, will you?”

He didn’t have to ask. He knew what was happening—the energy, the heat—but he didn’t know why. If she was gearing up for something, he doubted it had to do with him.

Elena had the suite door open before he finished knocking. She almost winced at the surprised look he gave her. She hadn’t started this important evening on a very sophisticated note, flinging the door back in her anxiety to see him.

“Very, very nice,” he said after a moment, and she realized that he was referring to the way she looked, as his gaze traveled down the short black bodice with its fitted sleeves and the flowing white skirt. He brushed a fingertip across the braided gold design that curled from the stand-up collar down the jacket’s front. “It has a certain stern, Victorian quality.” His voice became husky and sly. “But the textures hint at something sensual, perhaps even wild, underneath.”

His hand dropped to his side. She got herself under control and gave his devastating body, in its devastating black tuxedo, a cool appraisal. Finally her gaze halted on his lapel. “No boutonniere? I told you your flowers would be safe around me.”

“Can you really turn the power off whenever you want?”

She smoothed her skirt and looked away, the danger too close. He mustn’t worry about her and believe Kriloff’s dark hints. “I’m not a toaster, Audubon. I don’t have a switch. But I’m quite capable of taking care of myself
and
my gift.”

“Hmmm, so defensive. Well, come along. Your party is waiting.” He shut the door for her as she stepped into the hall, then held out his arm. She lightly tucked her hand around his elbow. She looked away from his intense scrutiny and concentrated on maintaining her reserve.

“Very good,” he murmured as they reached the wide staircase to the main floor. “You’ve wrapped a nice little shield around it, haven’t you?” He sounded more angry than pleased.

“For now. Perhaps I’ll start shooting off invisible lightning bolts when I meet your friends. Are any of them unmarried?”

“I’m afraid not.”

They were halfway down the long staircase. He halted, turned toward her, and said with unflustered command, “We’ll find you a suitable man, but not tonight.”

“We? Is that the royal ‘we,’ your lordship?”

“You and I. You asked me to teach you how to attract American men. But not tonight.”

She swallowed a painful little sound and stared straight ahead. She’d asked for that, provoked it. But was he serious? “I’ll try not to be a temptress.”

“A wise decision. The wives will appreciate it.”

Wrapped in brittle silence, they went downstairs and through the opulent central hall to the back of the house. When they entered the great room with all its grandeur, two dozen of the most elegant men and women she’d ever seen stopped their conversations and studied her with what seemed like shocked expressions. Her legs turned rubbery. She gripped Audubon’s arm hard.

Yes, she’d have to give dangerously close to everything, to impress these friends of his.

When Audubon guided her into their midst and began introducing each to her, their names were a blur. She focused on their handshakes, and the puzzled smiles that followed told her they’d felt the comforting warmth, the reaching out. It was the same for the women as the men, a friendly little
zap
of energy, just enough to make them wonder if they’d really felt it, and be curious.

But there was one man with traces of hideous scars on a kind, handsome face, and the scars caught her off guard. Before she knew what was happening, he had taken her hand to squeeze it politely but she
was melding hers to it, the urge to heal those scars racing through her fingertips like a gust of hot air escaping from a vent.

She couldn’t heal them—not scars—there was nothing to fix. She’d worked with scarred people to no avail. But the power reacted instinctively for those few seconds, until she willed it into obedience. She let go of his hand abruptly and curled her fingers shut.

“Kyle, are you all right?” asked his wife, Sara, a petite strawberry-blond with worry stamped on her elfin face. He rubbed his hands together and stared at them. “No more champagne for me. My fingers felt numb, or something.”

Elena coughed. “We Russian women have strong grips. We would do well in arm wrestling, dah?”

The group’s soft laughter was no antidote for the scowl on Audubon’s face. When she met his eyes, he sent a private look of warning her way. She gave him a prim smile that said she would do as she pleased. His friends couldn’t possibly guess what was happening when she touched them, and she would harmlessly create feelings of comfort and goodwill.

And wouldn’t harm herself, if she didn’t let her power get out of control.

After the introductions he took her to a group of sofas in front of the room’s massive fireplace. On a warm spring night there was no need for a fire, and considering her mood, no need for more warmth. One of the men sat down at the baby-grand piano in a corner and began playing a soft classical piece. Everyone else sat down around her.

She clasped her hands in her lap and tried to sound relaxed as she answered their pleasant questions. They only knew that she was a secretary from Moscow; she could be vague about the rest. Audubon was a stern presence who leaned against the fireplace mantel with his arms crossed, watching her through hooded eyes. A fox watching his prey, she
thought with anger. Did he think she would embarrass him?

One of the wives sat down in the armchair close to where she sat on the sofa and spoke to her in halting Russian. Tess Surprise, that was her name. She had a headache, but she was gallantly ignoring it. Elena couldn’t. It was begging to be erased.

“How beautiful!” Elena said, and took her hand to admire a ring.

“It was a gift from my husband when our son was born last year. A blue diamond. I have a sentimental fondness for them, and …” Tess Surprise touched her forehead, frowned, then lifted her eyebrows and shrugged. Elena knew the headache was gone. “What was I saying?”

“It’s a lovely ring,” Elena coached.

“Oh, yes. Well, excuse me, I think I’ll run upstairs and see if Clarice is having any problem being a baby-sitter.” She left, looking thoughtful and confused. Her husband, Jeopard, followed her and shot Audubon a questioning look on the way out.

Elena knew people were growing more intrigued now. A giant, dark-haired man sat down in the chair Tess Surprise had just vacated. Everyone talked pleasantly again, and she tried to concentrate on discussing
perestroika
and
glasnost
and all the other trendy Russian-American issues, but her hand kept itching to grasp her next-door neighbor’s.

Itching. He had some kind of itching problem, and as long as he sat this close to her, she would feel it on her own skin. When Bernard came by with a tray of glasses filled with champagne, the giant grabbed one and drank it in a gulp.

“Excuse me for drowning my sorrows,” he said to everyone, chuckling grimly. “But I have the worst case of poison ivy in medical history. I chased my wife through the woods last week, and all I have to show for it is an urge to have my legs sandblasted from the knees down.”

“That’s not what you said at the time,” Echo Lancaster commented. She winked at him, smoothed
long black hair back with a cinnamon-skinned hand, and smiled at the group. “I was trying to make him feel at one with nature, like a Cherokee. Instead he only feels at one with a tube of cortisone cream.”

Elena rested a hand on his tuxedo-clad arm, as if in sympathy. “You have this terrible ‘poison ivy’ all over you?”

“We’d better not be specific about where he has it,” his wife interjected, grinning.

He tried to smile, but his eyes were riveted to Elena’s hand. “But it was worth the—do you have a fever?”

She was done, thank goodness. With a sigh of relief she drew her hand into her lap and feigned surprise. “A fever? Are you making a joke?”

“I … no, never mind. Too much champagne. I need some air. Excuse me.”

Looking bewildered, he rose and extended a hand to his wife, who strolled with him out to the prettily lighted pool.

“My champagne must be unusual tonight,” Audubon noted from his guardian place by the mantel. “First Kyle comments on it, now Drake.”

Elena ignored him. Someone else had taken Drake’s place. One of the wives, and she had indigestion.

There were two dozen people here, and all of them had some little ache or pain that she could fix. She felt a little tired, but she would pace herself. The evening was going as she’d hoped, even though Audubon wasn’t reacting the way she wanted. His mood worsened as she grew more comfortable and moved around the room, talking to people, touching them whenever she could find an excuse, winning their curiosity and smiles.

He remained a silent, dark force in the background, watching her constantly, his expression just short of being angry, or maybe hiding more anger than she realized. She didn’t know what she was doing wrong, but she knew she couldn’t stop. It began to scare her, because she could feel deep fatigue creeping
through her body. But she
was
pacing herself, and as long as she did that, she would be fine.

As the hours passed, the laughter and conversation surrounded her like honey for a queen bee. Everyone felt wonderful, and several commented to Audubon that she had a way of making people relax, or forget their troubles, or
something
. She was a success.

A very tired success, now worried she wouldn’t have the energy to climb the stairs when it came time to say good night. She slipped out of the room finally, intent on going to the enormous kitchen deep inside the manor and making herself a strong cup of coffee.

She walked slowly down a narrow side hallway that angled through the back of the house, her feet weighted, her chest heavy with exhaustion. It was a servant’s route, with bare walls and linoleum floors, and she liked the simplicity. Her tormented feelings over Audubon cried out for this calm little place.

“Stop, please. I want to talk to you.”

Audubon. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself, turned gracefully, and waited with a thready pulse as he approached her. His shoes made clipped, authoritative sounds on the linoleum; his head was up and his body wired with tension.

“Yes?”

“What the hell have you been trying to do tonight?”

He stopped less than an arm’s length away, and his fury washed over her. There was pain in him, but not the kind she could heal with her touch. “I have been trying to make a good impression on your friends.”

“I told you these men were off-limits.”

As his meaning sank in, her lips parted in amazement. She leaned harder on the wall, and locked her knees to keep from swaying. “I was just as friendly to their wives as to them. How can you accuse me of … what are you accusing me of? Trying to steal them from their wives? Oh, Audubon.” His name came out with a soft, bitter moan.

“Stop touching them. I don’t care how innocent it seems. I know you don’t have much experience in social settings, or with ‘free’ men, meaning men who haven’t been instructed by Kriloff to keep you occupied, but—”

“But you don’t think I have any morals, either!”

“That’s not true. I merely believe you’re eager to see how much influence you have now that the ugly duckling has become a swan.”

“Are you blind?” Shivering with rage, she wanted to slap him. But hurting him was beyond her comprehension. “Are you blind?” she repeated softly, brokenly, and turned away, leaning her head against the wall. She laughed wearily. “Again, I’m some kind of bird to you. Right now I feel like one who’s crashed. Leave me alone.”