The Haviland Touch

by Kay Hooper

  He didn’t like the way she’d looked away from him, or the sudden wariness in her eyes. She hadn’t withdrawn from him exactly, but there was a barrier he hadn’t been conscious of only moments ago. It bothered him. He was certain she wanted him now, and both his usual judgment and his peculiar instincts kept assuring him that her words and her responses to him were completely honest. Why did she shy away from telling him her reasons for marrying another man? Were those reasons so painful that, even now, she couldn’t bear to remember them?

  SPENCER HAD NEVER been to Austria and, knowing that she probably wouldn’t have time to do any sightseeing, tried to see as much of Innsbruck as possible from the taxi as it conveyed them from the airport to their hotel. She immediately felt an affinity for the valley city, particularly the older sections with their narrow streets and tall Gothic buildings, and she loved the spectacular view of mountains that ringed the city.

  Drew had told the driver where to take them—his German was as fluent as his French—and told Spencer that he’d chosen an inn for them in the section of the city nearest the area of mountains where they hoped to find the cross.

  “You’ve been here before,” she noted.

  “A few times. I have at least a couple of contacts in the city, so we may be able to get some information.”

  Spencer looked at him curiously. “Wouldn’t whoever’s after the cross be cautious? I mean, how could your contacts know anything about it?”

  Drew smiled and took one of her hands. He’d been touching her almost constantly since the interlude on the jet, and if the touches seemed casual and undemanding Spencer was still highly aware of them. “People who deal in antiquities,” he said, “or even have knowledge of them are very adept at reading signs. They notice certain questions or actions, or an unusual preoccupation, and take note. After all, it could be something they’d be smart to go after themselves.”

  “Innsbruck is a big city,” she commented, still looking at him.

  “Yes, but the community of people interested in antiquities is relatively small, even worldwide. Most of us know each other, certainly by name and usually by sight. Aside from that, to find something hidden in the mountains, whoever’s after the cross—including us—will need certain supplies and equipment the tourists don’t bother with, and that’s a signal which an expert would read quite accurately.”

  Spencer was fascinated “You mean that if I had come here alone and didn’t ask a single question of anybody, but just rented a horse and bought supplies—?”

  He answered dryly, “At least two people that I know of in Innsbruck would hear of it within an hour. And once your name was known—which would be fairly quickly—there would be a dozen or so people across Europe speculating frantically that you were in search of the cross.”

  “I hadn’t realized so many people knew about Dad’s obsession,” she mumbled somewhat dazedly.

  “He hasn’t exactly kept it a secret during the last fifty years,” Drew reminded her. “Even the collectors who didn’t believe it existed were interested, not only because of intrinsic and historical value, but because there are so few disputed relics left to find. Collectors want one-of-a-kind objects, Spencer, and the more elusive they are, the greater their value.”

  He should know, she thought, and said, “You’re a collector.”

  “I enjoy the hunt as much as the find,” he responded lightly.

  Spencer didn’t say anything else on the subject, because they arrived at the inn. It was a beautiful old building, Renaissance in style, with such a gracious, Old World atmosphere that Spencer was instantly enchanted. She followed Drew into the lobby, her hand still securely held in his, and stood looking around as the bellman brought their bags in.

  “Are you up for a little sightseeing?” Drew asked, gazing down at her.

  Knowing that he intended to get in touch with his contacts, she didn’t think he meant that literally. She was intensely curious about the procedures involved; her imagination conjured up images of furtive meetings in shadowy alleys, and she had to smile at herself even as she replied to his question.

  “Of course I am.”

  Drew tried to remember what they were talking about. Those slow smiles of hers had a devastating effect on his mind, his pulse and his blood pressure. Granted, it didn’t require much to upset his precarious control where she was concerned. After she had said on the jet that she didn’t want to wait, he was dimly surprised he’d been able to talk at all. If he hadn’t fiercely concentrated on the search for the cross . . .

  “Drew?”

  He looked at her upturned face and cleared his throat. He could hold on a few more hours. Couldn’t he? “I’ll get us checked in,” he said with only a trace of hoarseness, “and have the bags taken up.”

  She nodded, then gestured toward a small gift shop tucked discreetly in one corner of the lobby. “I think I’ll see if they have a guidebook and a more recent map of the area.”

  He released her hand with reluctance, conscious once again of a haunting fear that if he didn’t keep hold of her she’d somehow vanish out of his life. It was a perfectly understandable and rational fear based on past mistakes and he knew it, but reminding himself of that was an ongoing battle. He was hardly given to flashes of foreboding, and certainly not precognition, but the fear of losing her was so strong inside him that it was almost like a premonition of actual danger.

  For a moment, watching her gracefully cross the lobby toward the gift shop, Drew’s mind went absolutely clear and cold. A premonition? Or years of experience whispering to him? Someone had broken into Spencer’s house and stolen her father’s notes. That indicated both haste and a disregard of the law, to say nothing of ruthlessness. What would happen if the search for the cross ended in a confrontation of some kind? Would the strange, elusive history of that relic end, as so many had, in violence and death?

  Danger was not only possible, Drew admitted silently to himself, it had to be expected. He hadn’t been so successful all these years by ignoring risk, and he knew he had to be prepared for anything.

  Anything except losing Spencer.

  He turned toward the desk, a last chill thought filtering through his mind even as he automatically went through the procedure of registering for a suite. He was well-known to collectors and black-market dealers alike. Was it a coincidence that the theft had occurred almost immediately after he had reappeared in Spencer’s life?

  chapter seven

  DREW TOOK HER to lunch first, at an outdoor café that provided a splendid view of the Goldenes Dachl, which was the top tourist attraction in Spencer’s guidebook and, judging by the crowds, was quite popular today. She knew the history of the beautiful Gothic building, which had been built to commemorate Maximilian’s marriage, and could see how its name, “Golden Roof,” had originated with the gilded copper tiles that shone brightly in the sunlight. She wished there was more time to just sit and look at it, or to go nearer, but she sensed a certain restlessness in Drew and she didn’t protest when he rose as soon as they’d finished eating.

  He seemed to be in a peculiar mood, as briskly informative as any tour guide, yet almost imperceptibly distracted, as if his mind were elsewhere. Despite that, though, he held her hand or tucked it into the crook of his arm constantly, making certain she never strayed more than a step away from him.

  As they walked through the picturesque quarter, Spencer became so wrapped up in her fascination for the sights it took her some time to realize that Drew was already seeking information about the cross and their competitors for it. He’d been talking to her all along, casually pointing out this or that with far more knowledge than her guidebook displayed, but he’d also spoken to at least half a dozen people in German.

  “I thought you had only a couple of contacts in Innsbruck,” she said mildly as they stood looking at a museum that had once been a ducal palace.

  Answering the implied question readily enough, Drew said, “They referred me to a few other people.�
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  She would have sworn their casual walking had been just that, and was a little amused to realize that Drew had followed a definite but unobtrusive route from contact to contact. Looking up at him, she asked, “What have you found out?”

  “Nothing yet. It may be tomorrow morning before the questions I’ve asked begin to produce answers—if they do.”

  Somewhat wryly, Spencer said, “I think I’ve been reading too many intrigue stories. I expected your contacts to look furtive and dangerous. The last man you spoke to looked like an ordinary street vendor to me.”

  “He is an ordinary street vendor.” Drew tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her away from the museum. “People who work on the streets of any city tend to know what’s going on around them. Besides, that man’s brother-in-law happens to own a stable and rents horses for mountain rides.”

  It was like a network, she realized, a series of connections between people, each possessing a specific kind of information. Drew was obviously plugged in to that network.

  “Is this how you work anywhere in the world?” she asked curiously. “Asking questions until they spread out like ripples in a pool?”

  “That’s a good description,” he replied. “It doesn’t always work that way, but if I go into a situation with more questions than answers it’s an effective way to operate. The people I talk to may not know anything helpful, but the people they talk to just might.”

  “Why do they bother to help? Money?”

  “Sometimes, but it’s often a question of favors. Having someone owe you a favor may be worth more than money.”

  Spencer thought about that as they continued to wander almost lazily through Innsbruck. Drew pointed out various sights and she responded appropriately, but she noticed that he spoke to three more people as casually as he had the others. As far as she could tell from her almost nonexistent German, two of those responded with negative answers and one appeared doubtful.

  She didn’t ask Drew to confirm her impressions. The sense of urgency she’d felt since the thief had stolen her father’s papers was still with her, but there was also—though she was reluctant to admit it to him—a very strong feeling of confidence in Drew. She had little doubt that her chances of locating the cross had increased tenfold once he had joined her in the search. And for the first time, she truly felt that her certainty in his abilities did nothing to diminish her.

  This was his world, his area of expertise, and she could accept that now with no loss of her own hard-won confidence. She no longer felt so inadequate, uncertain, or even in awe of him. She respected his knowledge and abilities, and found both fascinating rather than threatening.

  What a difference ten years could make.

  There was something else, Spencer admitted silently, which had pushed her urgency regarding the cross out of the forefront of her mind. She had fallen in love with Drew with all the wild desperation of a teenager, had run from him in an equally intense panic two years later, and had realized only when he reappeared in her life days ago that all these years, in some deeply buried part of herself, she had been waiting for him to claim what belonged to him.

  Now he was going to. Though she hadn’t asked, she was certain that he had chosen a one-bedroom suite for them this time. Since her arrival in Paris he had taken charge with cool authority, and after what she had said on the jet she had little doubt that he expected to be in her bed tonight and that he had arranged the accommodations accordingly.

  It was difficult to think of anything but that waiting bedroom, even though she had tried to. A part of her was filled with a sense of expectation she’d never known before—heart thudding unevenly, a vague weakness in her knees and vivid memories of earlier kisses and touches rising up with no warning to catch at her breath. But she was nervous, too, and more than once she glanced up at the tall man by her side and felt a pang of alarm.

  Those fleeting sensations of anxiety were the hardest to push away because they came from her own awareness of vulnerability. She knew that whatever Drew’s intentions were—to scratch an old itch, to get her out of his system or to begin some kind of new relationship between them—she had committed herself to him. From now on, and particularly after tonight, she would be vulnerable to him as she’d never been before.

  If anything had been needed to prove to her that her marriage had been a mistake, that was certainly proof enough. She had never committed herself to Reece or to their marriage; the divorce had brought pain only in her realization that she’d been a fool to marry him. She would never be able to say good-bye to Drew so painlessly, she knew.

  “You’ve gone quiet on me again,” Drew said.

  “Have I? I’m sorry.” She looked around to find that they were heading back toward the inn, and wondered just how long she’d been silent.

  “Tired?”

  She glanced up, encountered the warm concern in his eyes and immediately forgot whatever she’d been about to say.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured. “We’re on a public sidewalk.”

  They were stopped on a public sidewalk, she realized, and tried to think of something to say. It was ridiculously difficult. He was holding her hand now. She liked that. “I’m not tired,” she managed finally.

  He took a deep breath, looked away from her with an obvious effort and said, “It’s getting late. I know a good restaurant just around the corner from the inn. Why don’t we have dinner before we go back.”

  Years before, that nearly toneless voice would have made her believe he was indifferent, and the remoteness of his handsome face would have further unnerved her. Now, what she saw and heard was an almost rigid mask of control over emotions a long way from detached. For the first time, she wondered if that stern self-command would desert him in bed, and the possibility that it would sent a warm shiver through her body.

  What kind of a lover would he be? Would he be gentle? Rough and urgent? Impetuous, or slow and deliberate? A considerate lover or a selfish one? She didn’t think he’d be selfish. She knew he was skilled. He had to be. From what she’d heard and seen herself, he’d had women chasing him since his teens, and during the past ten years there had been a number of stories circulating in D.C., where he made his home base, about women he was involved with in various corners of the globe.

  Spencer hated those women. She hated them with a wave of emotion so sudden and so powerful it shocked her. The feelings were raw and primitive, churning inside her until she could hardly bear it. Jealous. That was it, that was what she was feeling. She was painfully, furiously jealous of every woman he had held in his arms.

  He must have felt the intensity of her gaze, because his voice had changed when he murmured her name.

  “Spencer . . .”

  He wasn’t looking at her, and she could hear the strain now, the faint tremor of something stretched so tightly it was in danger of snapping. It was a quality that seemed alien to his deep, low voice, and it was strangely moving.

  She cleared her throat in an uncertain little sound and tried to remember what he had said. Dinner, that was it. “Fine,” she said huskily. “Dinner’s fine.”

  Dinner was fine, though neither of them had much to say and Spencer, at least, had no idea what she ate. It occurred to her that Drew always seemed to be feeding her, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that; no one had ever taken care of her before, not the way Drew did. Her father, though she had no doubt of his love, had always been absentminded when it came to the practicalities of life, and during their short-lived marriage, Reece had been concerned, first and foremost, with himself—his needs, his pleasures, his emotions.

  Drew, it seemed, was very different. Some might have called him domineering, but Spencer didn’t think that was it. Though she couldn’t be sure, she doubted that it was his nature to be autocratic. The feeling she got from his matter-of-fact attitude was that he was just doing everything he could to make this trip easier for her. At the farm in D.C. he had been angry
that she refused to take a break and hadn’t eaten, and he’d promptly made certain she did both. In Paris she had been conscious of her exhaustion and had probably showed it—he had even commented on it later. Again, he’d made certain she ate something and got enough rest.

  Was that why she hadn’t felt a desire to fight it when he took charge of all the travel arrangements? Because her instincts told her his motive was concern? Whatever the reason, she decided to stop worrying about her own acquiescence. It hardly seemed important compared to everything else.

  They finished eating and left the restaurant, both still relatively silent. She thought Drew seemed a bit tense, and thought she knew why—until he stopped in the lobby of their inn and handed her a room key.

  “The suite’s on the second floor,” he said.

  Spencer looked at the key, then at him. “That sounds sort of like ‘see you later,’ ” she noted a bit dryly.

  In a voice that held reluctance he said, “Unfortunately, that’s what it is. Spencer, there are a couple of men I have to locate, men who might be able to help us, and they won’t talk to me unless I’m alone.”

  “More contacts?” She stared down at the room key in her hand.

  “Yes. I should be back within a few hours.”

  “I see,” she murmured.

  Drew had released her hand when he’d stopped, and now reached up to brush a strand of shining raven hair away from her cheek. His hand lingered, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said a bit roughly.

  A little embarrassed by the intensity of her own disappointment, Spencer managed, with an effort, to meet his steady gaze, and was immediately reassured. Her cheeks remained unusually warm, but at least she was able to smile at him. “I see that, too,” she said softly.

  He bent her head and kissed her swiftly and briefly, then looked at her, a muscle leaping in his tightly held jaw. “When this is over and Allan’s seen the cross,” he said, “I’m taking you to Wales.”