Gypsy Jewel

by Patricia McAllister

  “So you say. But my accounts have still not balanced since your treachery, and I am vexed beyond words at your abuse of my trust. Why should I listen to you now?”

  “Because, my lord, I have a rare treasure in my grasp at present, one you will cherish and exult in beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “Treasure?” The count poured two snifters of brandy and grudgingly gave one to Pavel. He sampled his own, smacked his lips and said, “I have enough money to amuse myself with for years to come, despite your disloyal frolicking with my family funds. I have no wish for any other precious objets d’art; as you see I am fairly well represented now.”

  Ivanov’s careless gesture indicated the gilt portraits and tapestries surrounding them, as well as a magnificent mahogany grand piano topped with jewel-studded candelabra.

  “Yes, I know, my lord. However, it is an idle wish you expressed to me several times that prompted my search for this singularly rare treasure of sorts. Do you still recall the lady Ekaterina?”

  Ivanov stiffened. His nostrils flared slightly with the memory Pavel roused, that of the haughty and beautiful niece of the Grand Duke of Kiev. How taken he was with her, obsessed to the point of agony. Her goldspun hair, her mocking emerald eyes, how they had driven him to distraction at court. Never had he found any woman to match her; after she had laughed aside his offer for her hand, he still burned with desire to have her. Though the lady in question was no longer alive, he was haunted by the memory of the beautiful vixen she had been, and how much he had loved her, to her eternal scorn.

  Ekaterina. His Katya. The golden lioness. There was no other way to describe such feline beauty. It demanded recognition, and he had sought to give it to her. Though Ivanov admired many women, he had never been able to recapture the elusive quality of the love-hate relationship they had shared. And to his eternal regret, he had never bedded the hellcat, though she had tempted him nearly to rape several times.

  Only Pavel, damn his knowing sly eyes, knew of his burning obsession about the only woman he had ever loved. Now he had cruelly dredged up those memories for the count, and he would answer for it.

  “Speak then, damn you.” Ivanov ground his jaw as he stared at the grinning dwarf. “What do you have to say about Katya?”

  Pavel hesitated, driving the aristocrat to near frothing before he deigned to reply. “Not exactly about her, my lord. But like her.”

  Sensing the puzzled, angry stare pulsating from the other man’s dark eyes, Pavel took a deep gulp of the brandy and let it burn through his belly, bolstering his courage. “You see, I have found the lady’s double. Tucked away in a disreputable inn with scarce else to recommend it, except this one creature of note. You will understand when you see her.”

  “Her? A woman? I do not need any more doxies, fool. And none could equal Ekaterina. You may throw all the mealy-mouthed blondes you like at me, but none will incite me as she.”

  “I beg to differ,” the dwarf said softly. “One look and you will regret your hesitation tonight.”

  Ivanov stared hard at his unexpected visitor. Was it possible that Pavel was being honest? That he had found a woman to make him burn as Katya had? The past ten years had been hell for the count, alternately mourning and cursing the proud bitch. For that reason he had never married, along with the additional secret of preferring sexual acts even the city slatterns considered perverted, secrets he knew Katya had despised him for, when she had caught a glimpse of his darker side.

  Beads of sweat dotted his brow as Ivanov demanded hoarsely, “Where? Where is this woman?”

  “I intend to present her to you shortly,” Pavel said. “I will need your help in doing so, for she seems to distrust me. The mention of your noble name should be enough to assure she is lulled into coming here, and your reward will be her possession, if you so choose.”

  “And lest we forget, I assume you have a price as well, Pavel?”

  The dwarf ignored the sarcasm, setting his empty snifter aside on a cherrywood table topped with smooth, pink marble.

  “How well you know me, old friend. But I ask only a simple thing — to be restored to your side. Not your accounts. I long to prove to you that I am faithful now, and intend to remain so.”

  Ivanov considered the request with obvious suspicion. He knew Pavel better than that. The dwarf was not known for his goodwill. But then, he had always been amusing and an occasional comfort to the lonely count. If he did indeed know of a woman like his fiery Katya, he might consider the old debt paid in full.

  Before he fully reasoned what he was getting himself into, Count Ivanov found himself grasping hands firmly with Pavel in a desperate gamble to reclaim a love lost long ago.

  DAWN SLANTED PINKLY OVER the horizon, casting a soft glow on the glittering fields of deep, unblemished snow. An aching stillness ruled; after the blizzard, busy Moscow slumbered in peaceful respect for the full onslaught of winter.

  As she looked out the back of the wagon, April marveled at what she saw. The night before she had not been able to appreciate the vastness nor the beauty of the city. Her breath emerged in crystalline little puffs that drifted away into the icy morning air. Above the rise of the imperial city, a vast, unbroken sky of wintry blue still shimmered faintly with the dying light of stars.

  Behind her, Damien finished dressing and came to join her. “You’ll catch your death of cold,” he gently scolded, kissing her shoulder. He draped a shawl over her shoulders, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  April smiled at the tenderness in his voice and leaned back into him. “I could stand here and gaze at this forever. Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, awestruck by the imposing mounds of snow and the glittering white shroud it cast over the town. “If nobody moved, it should be perfect for years to come.”

  “But perfection is boring after awhile,” Damien said, thinking of the ladies at court, and their shallow personalities. “Are you ready to leave?”

  April sighed. She did not want to let go of the memories of the night before, of just her and Damien secure from the storm in a world of their own making. Going outside would mean encountering Pavel again, and dealing with an unpleasant reality she would just as soon avoid.

  “Come on,” Damien urged, “Pavel is waiting for us.”

  “I’m hungry,” April put in, hoping to delay the inevitable. “Can’t we eat before we go to Ivanov’s?”

  “That’s up to Pavel, I suppose. Perhaps he will buy us something to eat along the way.”

  With a cross acknowledgement, April bundled herself up and moved slowly out after Damien into the bitter cold. She tried hard to show optimism over their upcoming performance. Right now, though, she wanted to be alone with her husband. Damien acted remote and distracted, and she knew he was preoccupied by something.

  April had tried to question him, but he had assured her he was fine. She did not believe that. Did he distrust Pavel as much as she did? Or was he still blinded by promises of riches and renown to be had?

  When they found the dwarf waiting in the stables, the couple was surprised to find Pavel in good spirits and in no hurry.

  “Did you rest well?” he inquired pleasantly enough, but April detected a sarcastic note and her eyes narrowed.

  Damien returned the civility and accepted Pavel’s offer to buy them a meal at a nearby inn. They all fell silent as they ate. There was hearty stew and biscuits for breakfast, with hot pressed cider to warm their insides. April found the food surprisingly good and ate hungrily. She kept darting suspicious glances down the table at Pavel, who appeared to be grinning to himself about something.

  “I have some good news to share,” Pavel said at last, wiping his greasy mouth with the edge of his shirt cuff. He addressed Damien, ignoring April as he usually did. “Ivanov has expressed interest in sponsoring you as new entertainment at court. Of course, he wishes to review your performance first. I have agreed to let him do so.”

  “When?” Damien asked around a mouthful of biscuit.

 
‘Tonight. The ballroom there should be sufficient for your needs; if not, he has agreed to open the adjoining quarters for space. He is an avid fan of music and dance, and always searching for the remarkable. I assured him that you qualify in every respect.”

  Not sure if it was a compliment or not, Damien shrugged and said, “I don’t know.” He sensed Pavel expected some hesitation, for they were supposedly sullen, shiftless gypsies, after all.

  “Come now,” Pavel continued patiently, but with an edge of warning, “you seem to forget how far and how fast I have brought you. Where is your gratitude for my efforts? I promised you a great deal and I have delivered it all in a couple days. You should be humble at least.”

  This was too much. Unable to bear Pavel’s overbearing rudeness any longer, April said hotly, “Perhaps we do not fully trust you. After all, you threatened to report our horses as stolen to get us to stay here.”

  Judging by Damien’s silence and Pavel’s pinched look, she knew she had hit the nail on the head. What other dastardly things had Pavel threatened? Was that why Damien was so eager to comply with the dwarf on every matter?

  “Your wife, it seems, is especially ungrateful,” Pavel remarked in a brittle voice. He glared at April with obvious dislike.

  “Romany women speak their minds,” Damien said.

  “Her sharp tongue may undo all of this, should his lordship be offended.”

  Lordship? Now Damien was intrigued. A peer of his own class? How strange that any lord, even a foreign one, should choose to sponsor a pair of rag-tag gypsies. Suspecting more to the story, he echoed with what he hoped sounded like appropriate greed, “He is wealthy?”

  “Indeed. The count is envied by all the boyar. He came into a great inheritance in his youth, and as an only child, kept the estate intact.” No thanks to me, Pavel thought, amused. “Alas, he is known for his eccentricities. He is forever searching for the unusual.”

  “So we are to be freaks to amuse him?” April inquired archly.

  Pavel was forced to look at her again, but he did so with disdain, furious that the chit dared speak so to her better. “Hardly. He will no doubt appreciate you more than you know.” He gave a smooth little laugh and saw her brow furrow.

  Damien also suspected Pavel had other plans for them, but this was an introduction to court circles after all, and he could hardly back down now. Thinking rapidly ahead, he said, “We will both need new outfits. Silks and velvets with gold braid.”

  Greed was something Pavel could understand. He granted the demand with a terse nod, so Damien pressed his luck further. “Ribbons for April’s hair, a silver belt for me. Gold bangles for us both. I want to look fine.”

  “As long as you perform just as well as you look,” Pavel said pointedly.

  “I forgot to mention that my violin needs a new string. In the cold weather one has broken. There must be a shop close by that could attend to it for me.”

  Pavel looked annoyed but said, “You can take the instrument out for repair. I will stay here with your wife until the count summons us.”

  Damien could not reveal his frustration openly. He needed to dispatch a message to the front, but he did not want to leave April alone with this strange little man.

  “April comes with me,” he said at last, in a low growl. “It will not take long.”

  Pavel frowned. “Remember, gypsy, in Moscow there are fine horses missing. It is better for you if no questions are asked.”

  Pavel's open threat was accompanied with a dismissive nod, and Damien was forced to take April by the arm and lead her firmly away from the table. If he hadn’t, she might have hurled her little dagger straight for Pavel, and Damien had a strong suspicion that she wouldn’t have missed.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE WHITE BIRD SQUIRMED in Damien’s hand, its plaintive coos echoing in the wagon.

  “Hold still, that’s a good fellow, just a moment more,” he muttered under his breath, finally securing the tiny metal cylinder to the pigeon. It puffed in indignation, flapping its strong wings in another attempt to dart free.

  He had only moments before April might return from the shop with the violin, and already his excuse that he had forgotten something in the wagon seemed too flimsy to be believed.

  Cradling the bird under his arm, Damien walked to the rear of the wagon and drew back the canvas flap. With a flutter, the white bird burst from his hold, winging up to freedom.

  “Fly swift and true,” Damien murmured, watching it until it vanished into snow-laden clouds high above the city.

  “Damien!” He heard April exclaim as she hurried toward the wagon, concern in her voice. “One of the birds just escaped.”

  “I know.” He adopted a wry tone as he leaned out to look at her. “I opened the cage to feed it, and it just flew out.”

  “Poor thing. It will freeze up there.” She held his violin case in one hand, a paper-wrapped package in another. “I used the money Pavel gave us to buy you a new outfit. I hope it will fit.”

  “I have no doubts if you chose it,” Damien said, jumping down from the wagon to help her with her burdens.

  “Did you remember what you’d forgotten?” she asked.

  “Yes. I forgot to say ‘I love you’ this morning.” Damien pecked a kiss on the end of her bright pink, icy nose, and April laughed delightedly. She completely forgot all about the pigeons then, just as he intended.

  “SHE IS HERE?” IVANOV faced the mirror as he spoke, fiddling with the stiff collar of his frilled shirt, and Pavel detected the note of anxiety in the count’s voice.

  “Yes. Both she and the musician are dressing for the performance downstairs. I bought the girl a gown I knew would favor her. She should be ready within the hour.”

  Ivanov lightly touched his graying, dark hair, patting it fastidiously into place though not a strand dared toy with his temper tonight. He trembled with anticipation, imagining and wondering if it could be possible, if a woman existed to compete with his Katya’s perfection. His critical eye roamed over his appearance one last time, noting the excruciatingly correct lines of his black frock-coat and trousers, the finely embroidered waistcoat and highly polished shoes.

  Though he knew by court standards he was still a handsome man, Ivanov resented the loss of his youth. At two score, he was eclipsed now by equally eligible, younger men. It gave his mouth a bitter twist, and his renowned acerbic wit had become harsh and cruel of late.

  As he left his bedchamber, Pavel trotting alongside like a faithful dog, Ivanov shook his head and said again, “Gypsies. I don’t know, Pavel. Aren’t they dangerous? Aren’t the women renowned for witchcraft?”

  “The only witchcraft this one has is with her eyes,” Pavel gushed. “Such a shade of green as you’ve never seen — well, perhaps you have.”

  Ivanov idly recalled the collar of emeralds he had given Katya to match her flaming eyes. Considered priceless, the stones had been in his family for several centuries. She had worn them for a time, toying with his affections, then abruptly refused to wear them.

  Since then, the necklace had been gathering dust in the gold chamber that he had once fashioned for her, in the same spot she had carelessly flung them in a fit of pique. He had forbidden any of his servants to touch anything in the room he prepared for his intended bride twenty years ago.

  Years ago, he had been teased by the boyar at court about his fascination with Ekaterina. Since her untimely death, Ivanov had shunned the court entirely, gaining the reputation of an eccentric and a recluse. He was tormented by the loss of Katya. She still existed in his tortured heart and mind, welcoming him in his dreams as she had never done in real life.

  Even now, none dared mention Katya to him. Her portrait hanging in the library was regarded with no little fear. He had once beaten a maid who had merely attempted to dust the frame.

  Now he found himself desperate enough to let a compulsive liar persuade him that a gypsy, some blowsy backwoods wench, could possibly make him forget his Katya. He d
oubted it, but he did suppose he would be entertained, if rumors about gypsy dancing and musical abilities proved true.

  Pavel took a departure to check on the ballroom and the state of the performers. Ivanov decided to avail himself of a smoke, and stepped outside on the stone path directly through the library doors.

  It was bitterly cold outside, but the icy air refreshed him. He cupped his hands to light a cigarette, then blew a great white ring of smoke that spiraled up toward the dusky purple sky.

  He stood awhile, steeling himself for the night’s events. As he finished his smoke, he overheard an explosive string of cries coming from a nearby room.

  The voice was female, but he couldn’t make out the words. Curious, Ivanov followed the gently curving path to the double glass doors that looked into that chamber. What he saw made him freeze and stare in heart-pounding disbelief. There, standing centered in a pile of snow-white petticoats, was his Ekaterina.

  She was loudly berating someone, a maid perhaps, about something. She wore only a thin, moonlight-colored silk chemise and her golden hair swirled to her waist, freshly shining from a bath. When she half-turned toward him, Ivanov saw the angry green flash of her eyes.

  Dear God. He sagged against a marble statue in the garden, the cigarette snuffed in the snow. In an instant he was transported back twenty years, to when he had similarly spied on his beloved at her toilette.

  Suddenly he had to know what she was saying. Was her voice shrill, unpleasant? Or a low seductive drawl? He hurried back along the path, almost slipping on his smooth soles. He entered the library breathless and with a complete loss of composure. Above the fireplace, Katya’s portrait mocked him with knowing green eyes.

  Witch! So she had come back to haunt and taunt him, eh? This time she would not succeed. One way or the other, whatever it took, Ivanov would make Katya his.

  APRIL HAD NO IDEA she had nearly driven a man to the point of madness. She only knew she was consumed with rage herself, and her hands shook as she hurled the spangled red dress in a sorry heap across the room.