What Wild Moonlight

by Lynne, Victoria

  In London it was considered scandalous to eat while strolling through the streets. But then, an unaccompanied woman traveling abroad was beyond scandal. That realization made her relish her freedom and her food all the more. She would enjoy both while they lasted. She walked through the marketplace, eyeing the vast selection of merchandise. She walked past shops displaying bolts of traditional Provençal fabrics, rough clay pottery, spectacular beaded jewelry, silky lace shawls, candied fruit, purple cabbages, plump little sausages, lush stalks of gladioli, and fragrant bunches of mimosa. Although she would have loved to while away the afternoon exploring the town, she was too mindful of time passing to fully enjoy herself. Reluctantly she turned and made her way back to the coach.

  She found the square with no trouble, but their coach remained empty. Apparently the other passengers were still inside the café. Her spirits buoyed by the fresh air and a full stomach, Katya set down her carpetbag and took a seat on the edge of the courtyard fountain.

  Her gaze was drawn almost at once to the old Nice castle. Built centuries ago to protect its residents against Saracen invaders, its thick rock walls jutted up almost mystically against the harbor, as if it had risen from the sea itself. Its crenellated walls, ancient turrets, and crumbling battlements seemed to teem with life and cast an odd medieval spell over the city Katya closed her eyes and imagined herself under the castle’s protection, watched over through the centuries. It was a purely whimsical thought, but one which pleased her nonetheless.

  Suddenly the warmth of the sun disappeared and a chill ran through her, as though the castle’s protection had abruptly vanished. She opened her eyes to discover the driver standing beside her, his long shadow looming over her. Her first thought was that he was standing too close to her. On closer reflection, however, she realized that he stood no closer to her than anyone else. Yet his presence seemed somehow magnified, almost as though he were touching her.

  He had removed his jacket and cravat, she noted immediately. Unable to stop herself, her gaze moved briefly over the Englishman’s body. His crisp white shirt was slightly open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his broad chest. He had also rolled up the sleeves, drawing her attention to his powerful forearms and fine brown leather riding gloves. His dark hair was swept back and tousled by the breeze; his skin was bronzed from the sun. In the bright light of day his ebony eyes appeared even more dark and mysterious.

  Katya considered the man silently. While there was nothing distinctly offensive or improper about him, he seemed to exude a rugged, almost aggressive air of sensuality that she found faintly disturbing. He brought to mind a pack animal that had been cast out and was forced to hunt alone. A beautiful animal perhaps, but one that was ultimately dangerous. Bearing that in mind, she sent him a curt nod, then gathered her belongings and stood to leave.

  As she took a step away from him she was confronted by the sight of the young Italian lovers with whom she had shared the coach. They were standing against a thick clay wall and presumably believed that no one could see them. Locked in a scandalous embrace, they shared a deep, intimate kiss. As the young man’s hand moved caressingly up his inamorata’s thigh, Katya turned abruptly away, blushing furiously.

  Unfortunately she turned directly into the Englishman’s arms. As he brought up his hands to steady her, she was immediately engulfed by the heady, warm scent of his skin. Not knowing where else to look, she bravely tipped back her chin to meet his eyes. Judging from the knowing expression on his face, it was all too evident that he had also witnessed the scene.

  Embarrassment flooded her. She stiffened her spine and stepped back, inquiring in cool rebuff to his unspoken amusement, “Are we departing soon?”

  “In a minute.” His gaze skimmed over her once again. His eyes were so dark they seemed to absorb the sunlight; yet they offered back none of the sun’s warmth. He studied her for a moment in silence, as though she were a puzzle whose pieces he was trying to connect. “American?” he said at last.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your accent.”

  “Oh.” She’d traveled extensively with her parents, and her ease with languages was apparent not only in her varied fluencies, but in the local dialects she’d absorbed over the years. But as that was more explanation than she wanted to give, she simply shrugged and responded as her mother always had: “Gypsy.”

  He arched one dark brow, a smile playing about his lips. “Ah. Of course.”

  Katya turned pointedly away. “If you’ll excuse me…”

  “One moment please, Miss Alexander,” he said, stopping her. “There was a reason I came out here to speak with you. Have you checked your belongings recently?”

  She turned, frowning back at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about that carpetbag you were clutching to your chest in the tavern back in Cannes. Surely you weren’t so foolish as to entrust its safety with Lord and Lady Stanton.”

  “How did you—”

  “Your voices carried through the top of the coach.”

  “I see.” Katya drew herself up. “Thank you for the warning,” she replied. “That being the case, I shall take care to monitor our conversations more carefully.”

  A tight, mocking smile touched his lips. “The warning was not meant to ensure the privacy of your conversations.”

  “Then what—”

  “Lord and Lady Stanton have indicated that they’ve changed their minds about continuing on to Monaco. It occurred to me that their abrupt change of heart might stem from a desire to escape undetected with whatever valuables they were able to sneak from your bag, rather than from a sudden desire to tour the town of Nice.”

  Her eyes widened as she stared at him for a moment in stunned, speechless shock. “You can’t be serious,” she finally managed.

  “You didn’t wonder why a lord and lady of the realm were taking a third-rate coach into Monaco, rather than the train? Or where their servants might be? Or why Lady Stanton was so insistent that you give up control of your bag?”

  “That’s utterly preposterous.”

  “I suggest you check your bag, Miss Alexander.”

  “Very well,” she replied, matching his patronizing tone. “After I do, I shall be happy to accept your apology on behalf of Lord and Lady Stanton.” That said, she bent down, flipped open the leather straps of her carpetbag, and reached inside. Secure in the knowledge that she was entirely correct, she unfastened the tiny buttons that lined the inside front pocket, opened it, and peered inside.

  Nothing.

  The black silk pouch in which she stored her jewelry and cash was missing.

  Katya smothered a shocked cry as her heart slammed against the walls of her chest. Swallowing hard, she resisted the urge to immediately dump her bag upside down and rifle through its contents in search of the missing item. The truth was inescapable. She had checked the tiny pouch before she boarded the coach and had found everything in good order. Now her jewels and money were gone. The only time the bag had been out of her hands all day was when Lady Stanton had insisted Katya put it on the floor between her and her husband.

  The Englishman’s deep voice rang out from above her. “I’m sorry, Miss Alexander. In this particular instance, I had hoped that I was wrong.”

  Katya shook her head, unable to bear his sympathy. She was furious with herself for her carelessness, furious with the Stantons for their deception, and furious with him for pointing out her witless naiveté and clumsy ineptitude. “Surely you weren’t so foolish as to entrust its safety with Lord and Lady Stanton.” It was bad enough that her belongings were missing, but she needn’t compound the beating her pride was taking by admitting that to the arrogant Englishman. She was quite capable of getting her possessions back without any help from him, thank you very much.

  Forcing an expression of smug righteousness onto her face, she straightened and coolly met his gaze. “It appears that everything is perfectly in order,” she lied. �
��Or perhaps you would like to check for yourself.” She extended the open carpetbag toward him.

  A look of mild surprise showed on his features, although he didn’t look the least bit embarrassed at his mistake. “I believe I can take your word for it,” he replied, then gave a slight bow. “Do convey my apologies to Lord and Lady Stanton.”

  “I shall do nothing of the sort. I wouldn’t dream of insulting them.” She bent once again to fasten her bag, then straightened. “I suggest that in the future you refrain from leaping to such absurd conclusions about people. Especially people of quality. It is painfully evident that this is a subject with which you are horribly ill acquainted.”

  A mocking smile once again touched his lips. “It might surprise you to know that I was once a gentleman myself.”

  She tilted her chin. “Frankly, sir, I find that rather difficult to believe.”

  Rather than taking offense at her words, he merely nodded. Turning away, he released a sigh that contained a myriad of emotions, not least among them frustration and regret. “Frankly, Miss Alexander, so do I.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nicholas Duvall watched the prim little Miss Alexander move toward the café where the other passengers had gathered for a late afternoon meal. Clearly his warning about Lord and Lady Stanton had offended her, though he couldn’t imagine why. It had been meant as a simple word of caution, nothing more.

  Now that he thought of it, Nicholas didn’t know why he had bothered to issue the warning at all. Surely it wasn’t his protective instincts toward the fairer sex that had impelled him to do so, for those instincts had run dry years ago. Then again, never had he seen a woman more in need of a firm guiding hand than Miss Alexander. Everything about her, from the way she had vested her total trust in the Stantons, to the crimson blush that had stained her cheeks at the sight of the young lovers exchanging passionate kisses, to the stiff-collared, droopy state of her attire, spoke of her complete naiveté.

  Nicholas shrugged the idle thoughts away. How the prim and proper Miss Alexander chose to conduct herself was none of his business. With that resolution firmly in mind, he moved to collect his passengers.

  He strode to the café and opened the door, then stepped inside and briefly scanned the crowd. His gaze fell immediately on his small group, who were in the process of collecting their belongings and departing. While he watched, Miss Alexander leaned forward and accepted Lady Stanton’s farewell embrace. Nicholas took a step toward them and then abruptly stopped, frozen in disbelief.

  Bloody hell, he thought, as a shocked smile slowly stretched across his face. I’ll be damned.

  It appeared he had been entirely wrong as to who was the thief.

  As the two women concluded their embrace, Miss Alexander dipped ever so gracefully into Lady Stanton’s bag and artfully transferred a black silk pouch from the elderly woman’s bag into her own. The switch was performed with such infallible timing and grace that he would have missed it entirely had his gaze not been focused on them.

  Nicholas’s shock at witnessing the petty crime quickly turned into an absurd sense of admiration. He shook his head, unaccountably pleased by the discovery. Rarely was he fooled in life, yet Miss Alexander had deceived him completely. So she wasn’t the prude little innocent she pretended to be, he thought, eyeing her with renewed interest.

  He hesitated a moment, debating what action he should take. The honorable thing, of course, would be to immediately denounce Miss Alexander and demand that she return the pouch to its rightful owner.

  Then again, the hell with that. Nicholas was rarely burdened by what was honorable… particularly when his own needs were so much more compelling. It came to him with startling clarity that the corrupt little Miss Alexander might well offer a solution to one of his most pressing problems.

  Somewhere ahead of him in Monaco—or perhaps in the group he had left behind—lurked a cold-blooded killer. Miss Alexander might be the perfect tool for helping him find the man. She was obviously resourceful, talented at sleight of hand, and gifted with a set of wonderfully ambiguous moral standards. If she was smart, she might even make a tidy little profit by helping him. He quickly formulated a plan, amazed at the ease with which it came to him. It had never before occurred to him to seek out an accomplice in his search. But now that the idea presented itself, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.

  Abruptly deciding that Lady Stanton could well afford the loss of whatever petty baubles she had carried in her bag, he stepped forward, announcing that it was time to depart. He ushered his remaining passengers into the coach without further ceremony and then climbed aboard and gathered the reins. He edged the team out of the café’s open courtyard and onto the busy Quai Rauba Capeu, heading northeast toward Monaco.

  The road widened as they entered the fishing harbor of Villefranche. Nicholas stopped briefly for the fisherman from Marseilles to disembark. He made a second stop less than an hour later in the ancient hilltop village of Eze, where the young Italian lovers took their leave. As Lord and Lady Stanton had elected to remain in Nice, that left him with just one passenger for the remainder of the journey into Monaco: the charmingly corrupt, intriguing Miss Alexander.

  While Nicholas guided the team, he pondered the best way to approach her with his proposition. Should he appeal to her sense of greed by baiting her with a monetary reward, cajole her with flattery for her talent as a thief, or directly threaten her with exposure if she didn’t agree to help him?

  As he silently debated the merits of each tactic, a stiff breeze kicked up. Nicholas glanced around, noting for the first time the commotion in the underbrush around him. Thrushes, hares, and marmots scurried to find cover, reminding him of the sudden burst of activity on shipboard as sailors hurry to prepare for a storm. And there would be a storm, no doubt about it. As occupied as he’d been with his thoughts, he’d paid no attention to the weather. Looking over his shoulder he saw a bank of thick, dark clouds sweeping in from the west and bearing down on the coastline.

  He let out a curse and rapidly calculated the odds of beating the storm to Monaco. Slim to none, he guessed, as the azure sky quickly darkened to indigo and the sharp spring breezes became violent gusts strong enough to rattle the coach. They were probably only six to seven miles away from their destination, but it might as well have been sixty to seventy. He was barely able to control the horses now and knew it would be even more difficult once the skies really opened up. Nor was there room on the rugged Corniche to turn the coach around and return to Eze. It would be suicide to even attempt the maneuver. The road was little more than a narrow ledge carved into the mountainside; alongside it was a sheer drop to the sea below.

  Unfortunately he and his passenger had no choice but to seek shelter within the coach and ride out the storm where they were. No sooner had Nicholas come to this reluctant conclusion than a burst of deep, booming thunder rumbled above them. A resounding crack of lightning blistered the sky as the clouds split open and rain poured down in torrents. The horses tossed their heads and pranced nervously back and forth, ready to rear. One wrong move could send them plummeting over the side of the cliff.

  “Easy,” Nicholas crooned, keeping his voice low and soothing as he leapt from his seat and moved gingerly beside the horses. Feeling his way in the driving rain, he blindly searched among the tangle of leather straps and metal harnesses. The team snorted and shook, their eyes wild with panic. They sidestepped along the path, rocking the coach perilously close to the cliff’s edge.

  “Easy,” he repeated softly, but his gaze was no longer on the team, but on the coach itself. Within the space of seconds, the door opened and Miss Alexander exited the vehicle. Relief and annoyance poured through him in equal measure. Relief that she’d displayed the common sense to remove herself from a coach that stood a good chance of toppling over a cliff—unless he managed to unhitch the team, a task he was currently performing with unparalleled ineptitude—and annoyance at the inevitable onslaught of hysteri
a that would no doubt comprise her reaction to their situation.

  Putting that aside for the moment, he doggedly continued his task. He’d barely managed to find the first clasp when a second bolt of lightening shot from the sky, striking so close he felt the electricity pulse through the air. The team jerked out of his grasp again, rearing in utter panic, their hooves lashing through the air. He lunged backward, barely avoiding the impact of hoof against his skull.

  Nicholas regained his footing only to stumble again, tripping over his sole remaining passenger. Miss Alexander stood right behind him, soaked to the skin, fighting the driving gusts of wind and rain just to remain upright. Rather than moving away from the coach, as might be expected of any sane person, she was moving toward it.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, barely making himself heard over the fury of the storm.

  Her gaze flashed to the frightened team of horses, then back to him. “What are you doing?”

  Ignoring her, he reached for the team again, only to have them spook and skitter backward, away from him. A rolling boom of thunder shook the ground around them. The coach tottered precariously against the edge of the cliff.

  “Don’t,” Miss Alexander hissed, her voice cutting through the pounding rain. Her eyes shot back to the horses. Before Nicholas could stop her, she stepped toward the badly spooked team, her palms spread open wide as though in surrender or supplication. Though her words were indistinct, they were muttered in a low, soothing tone that seemed to calm the panicked beasts. At the very least, she’d managed to divert their attention from the storm and center it on herself.