Luck of the Wolf

by Susan Krinard

  The first thing Aria noticed was that the woman had a flowery scent about her, though it was a pleasant fragrance, instead of the overwhelming stink humans called “perfume.” The second thing was that the strange female was wearing exactly the kind of fashionable clothing she’d seen in the magazines and in the courtyard: a straight, snug skirt bedecked with flounces and ribbons, with a ridiculous bow of some sort right on the rear, and an equally tight bodice with a lacy panel down the front. Her hair was dark, and tucked under a hat covered with more bows, flowers and feathers, and she carried a frothy parasol in a dainty white-gloved hand. She wore the dress as if she had been born in it.

  She was also beautiful. And when she smiled at Cort, Aria’s heart fell straight down to her feet and through the floor underneath.

  Cort smiled at the lady in return and looked at Aria. The good humor in his eyes faded along with his smile.

  “Madame Martin,” he said, “this is Anna, your pupil. Anna, Madame Babette Martin.”

  Babette Martin beamed at Aria. “Que belle!” she exclaimed. “How charming!”

  Her voice was low and rich, like the deepest notes Franz had played on his fiddle, and it held an accent much stronger than Cort’s. Aria thought of her own voice, and how coarse it must sound in comparison.

  “Anna,” Cort said, “kindly go and dress.”

  Had Aria been in wolf shape, she didn’t know if she would have growled at Cort’s bossy manner or slunk away with her tail between her legs. Half-afraid to leave Cort and Babette Martin alone together—though she really didn’t know why—she rushed off to change. Her fingers trembled on the buttons of her bodice as she dressed. The skirt almost tripped her up when she raced back into the sitting room and skidded to a stop.

  “Good morning,” she said, essaying a half curtsy and feeling very foolish as she made it. She comforted herself with the fact that Cort surely would have to approve of her attempt.

  But he didn’t. He merely regarded her with a frown, and looked her up and down.

  “You can see that she needs considerable instruction,” he said, as if Aria were one of the prize rams Berthold the shepherd had brought to show her after he had won a competition in the village.

  “You are too hard on the girl, mon ami,” Babette said with a throaty laugh. “Such a beautiful child will surely be a delight to teach.”

  “I am not a child,” Aria said.

  Cort ignored her. “If anyone can do it, madame, I believe you can.”

  Aria detected something like sympathy in Babette’s eyes. “We will need a little time to get acquainted. Perhaps you might leave us alone for a while?”

  “I don’t want to be left alone,” Aria said.

  “Anna!” Cort snapped.

  “It is nothing,” Babette said. “We shall grow to understand each other, c’est ça?

  “Are you certain you wish to do this?” Cort asked her.

  “I would not refuse Yuri. We are old friends. And I do love a challenge.”

  “You have my sincerest admiration, madame,” Cort said. He bowed over her hand and kissed her gloved fingers. “I will leave you, but should you require anything…”

  “Tea, perhaps, if it is not too much trouble.”

  “I will see to it immediately.” Cort cast Aria one last, assessing look and walked out the door.

  Babette glanced around the room with obvious pleasure. “What a lovely room,” she said.

  Aria plopped down on the sofa. “Is it?”

  “Very fine indeed. Monsieur Renier must have great faith in you, mademoiselle.”

  Her manner was so pleasant that Aria found it difficult to maintain her resentment. “Did he tell you everything?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter.

  “You are fortunate enough to belong to one of the most influential families in New Orleans.”

  “Is that where you come from?”

  “I am originally from France, but I lived in New Orleans for many years.”

  “Do you know what I am?”

  “If you mean do I know you are loup-garou, like Cort and the other Reniers, then yes, I have that privilege. There are many such as you in New Orleans.”

  That was something Cort hadn’t told Aria. “You aren’t afraid?”

  “Why should I be? A woman is a woman and a man a man. I have never known your kind to be more dangerous than anyone else.”

  Her calm acceptance didn’t comfort Aria nearly as much as it should have. “Have you known Cort for a long time?”

  “Only since I arrived. He is quite charming himself, n’est-ce pas? And so handsome.”

  Aria fidgeted, not liking Babette’s tone when she talked about Cort. “You are good friends with Yuri?” she asked.

  “We knew each other in New Orleans.” For the first time since she had walked in the door, Babette lost her smile and the light went out of her eyes. “I have not seen him in a very long time.”

  They way she spoke of Yuri intrigued Aria, but she had more important things on her mind. “Do you really want to teach me?” she asked.

  The lady joined her on the sofa, folding her delicate hands neatly in her lap. “Of course I do, ma petite. I have never met a more promising student.”

  “You have done this before?”

  The other woman hesitated, though her smile never wavered. “In a manner of speaking,” she said.

  Madame Martin was hiding something, Aria was sure of it. And she needed to know much more about the woman before she’d come anywhere close to trusting her as much as she had learned to trust Cort.

  “What if I don’t want your help?” she asked.

  “I was under the impression that you were eager to return to your family.”

  Her gentleness made Aria feel ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s just…since I don’t remember, sometimes I am a little afraid. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful, madame.”

  “Ce n’est rien.” Babette laid her hand over Aria’s. “You need not be formal with me, Anna. I believe we shall become good friends.”

  Aria looked away. The door opened, and a uniformed man entered with a tray of steaming tea and biscuits. He laid the tray down on the table near the couch and left with a bow.

  Babette rose to take charge of the tea things, pouring with an easy grace Aria couldn’t help but admire.

  Maybe it was possible that they would become friends after all. After spending so much time with Franz and Cort and Yuri, it might even be nice to have a female friend. Someone she might confide in. Someone who might “explain” the things Cort hadn’t wanted to talk about.

  And teach her how to make Cort really notice her, the way he had noticed Babette.

  Aria took a teacup from Babette and thanked her. “When you lived in New Orleans,” she said, “did you know my family?”

  “Certain members of it, on occasion,” Babette said. She sipped her tea, watching Aria over the rim of her cup.

  “Were you there when I was kidnapped?”

  “Yes. A terrible thing. But it is over now, and soon you will be with them again.”

  The tea suddenly tasted very bitter on Aria’s tongue. “Why would anyone want to steal a little baby?”

  Babette’s delicate brows drew together. “A baby?” Her expression cleared. “Oh, yes. You have forgotten.” She set down her cup and touched Aria’s arm. “You were not an infant but a child of twelve when it happened. I have no doubt that time spent with your family will restore what you have lost.”

  With great effort Aria kept her body perfectly still. A child of twelve. At that age, she had been living in the mountains with Franz.

  She could not be Lucienne Renier.

  ANNA WAS, INDEED, a delightful girl. Rough around the edges she might be, but Babette was not in the least put off by that small flaw, or by the girl’s tragic loss of memory. The child was beautiful, with the natural grace of all her kind, and was clearly as smart as a whip. Perhaps even perceptive enough to recognize that Babette, too, ha
d something to hide.

  Oh, it was not entirely a secret. At least not from Yuri, though Babette was certain that Cort didn’t know who she really was. The naive country girl, who had been born Mathilde Babin in a bare, tiny cottage in Auvergne, had risen from common prostitute to become the most celebrated courtesan and madam in New Orleans. Her brothel had become a watchword for gracious hospitality, and she had been content enough in her life.

  Then she had met Baron Yuri Chernikov at an exclusive party and fallen in love. She had been ready to give up everything for him: fortune, comfort, pride.

  But Yuri, who had once claimed to love her in return, would never marry a whore. He had ambition. She could have no part in the life he planned to create.

  Babette smiled sadly and looked at the girl sleeping on the chaise longue, her hand trailing over the side and her astonishing golden hair draped across her face. Babette had trained girls before, but they had been intended for a very different fate. She must be careful never to step over the line. Anna must never learn what Babette Martin had been.

  And Yuri must never learn that she still loved him.

  Leaning her chin on her hand, Babette looked more carefully at Anna’s recently mended dress. It might have been appropriate for a country girl or a servant with no expectation of improvement, but it was hardly suitable for the lady Anna had been and was to become again. Especially without corset or petticoats. Cort had bought foundation garments for the girl but had been wise enough to hold them in reserve until Babette arrived.

  Babette’s first task would be to teach Anna, the once and future Lucienne Renier, how to wear them. That might not be easy, for Yuri had been right. Anna was wild. But that would only lend her a certain fascination when Babette was finished.

  Fascination, indeed. Babette remembered Cort’s gruffness when he’d dealt with the girl, as if she could do nothing to please him. It seemed an unnecessarily harsh attitude when one considered that Cort and Yuri planned to make money from returning her to the Reniers. True, the girl would ultimately benefit from their scheme, but Babette couldn’t help but feel that there was more going on than met the eye.

  For if there was one thing she had learned in her decades of pleasing men, it was the range of male emotions. Which was quite limited, really. They were driven by two basic feelings: lust and pride. Lust, under the right circumstances, could become something much more noble. But it must always contend with pride. Cortland Renier had plenty of both.

  There was no doubt in Babette’s mind that he lusted after his charge and was holding that lust in check with great difficulty.

  And unless she was very much mistaken, Anna felt the same way. Babette had been convinced from the moment she’d walked into the room that Anna was a virgin, but virginity was hardly an obstacle to sexual desire. Anna had only just begun to recognize the urges, and power, of her own body.

  Such power unleashed without understanding could lead to tragedy, and Anna’s interests would not be best served if she acted without realizing the consequences. Still, it seemed highly unlikely that Monsieur Renier would indulge his lust or allow the girl to do so.

  Did Yuri know what was brewing between them? He had given no indication of it, but she would not necessarily have expected him to notice unless the attraction became far more blatant than it was now. He would certainly not approve of any possible threat to their plans, no matter how remote it might seem to him.

  It would be very interesting to see how things played out in the weeks ahead. Very interesting indeed. And if Babette could do just a little to help Anna recognize and tame her woman’s power—power she would need for whatever lay ahead—she would feel that she had done something of worth besides exchanging her experience for money.

  With a smile of satisfaction over a decision well made, Babette poured herself a cup of cooling tea.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “WE WILL LEAVE San Francisco tomorrow,” Cort said.

  He, Yuri and Babette had gathered in Cort’s sitting room, tension bubbling among them like an overflowing pot of scalding soup.

  Cort wasn’t entirely certain of its source; Babette seemed perfectly composed, and if Yuri was glowering, that was hardly unusual. Once he’d seen them together, Cort had quickly surmised that they had been lovers sometime in the past, but Yuri wouldn’t have invited Babette to be part of their scheme if he had considered their relationship to be problematic.

  On the other hand, the fact that Aria had thrown Cort so completely off balance again gave him a strong desire to tear his own curtains from their rods, but he thought he was doing well enough in concealing the urge.

  “No sign of observers?” Cort asked.

  “You would know better than I,” Yuri said.

  And, indeed, Cort hadn’t seen any sign that Brecht’s men, or Brecht himself, had come anywhere near the hotel. He had made subtle inquiries on the Coast and haunted the backstreets while Yuri watched Aria, and he had come to the conclusion that Brecht’s hatchet man at the saloon had been telling the truth. Brecht was gone. With any luck, gone for good.

  That was a powerful relief. There would be no going back once they left San Francisco. Provided there were no further complications or attempted abductions, the solution to Cort’s current problem was finally within his grasp. In a few months’ time Aria would be a different girl. She would no longer be a hoyden blurting out whatever came into her mind, scrambling about in shirt and trousers, fighting like a street urchin and making propositions that would lead to her own disgrace. She would have learned control and discretion, and how to behave with a man.

  Wasn’t that exactly what he wanted?

  “We are wasting time,” Yuri grumbled.

  Cort glanced at Babette. “Are you ready to leave, madame?”

  The Frenchwoman inclined her head. “I might have wished to take greater advantage of this city’s better purveyors of fashion, but…”

  “You knew we wouldn’t be here long enough for that,” Yuri said.

  “There are tailors and seamstresses in Sacramento,” Cort said. “They should be adequate until Ar-Anna,” he corrected himself, “is ready for New Orleans.”

  Babette snapped open her fan. “Such a primitive place it sounds, this Sacramento,” she said, “yet I suppose it cannot be helped.” She cocked her head. “I presume you still wish to be discreet in our departure?”

  “It would be foolish to take any unnecessary risks,” Cort said. “I am confident that Brecht has given up his pursuit, but…” He looked from Babette to Yuri. “We must take every precaution.”

  “What do you suggest?” Yuri asked.

  “I propose that that we split up. We will proceed as if Brecht is watching us, and make him believe he’s following Anna when in fact he’ll be chasing somebody else.”

  “Ah.” Babette tapped her chin with one gloved finger. “It occurs to me that I am approximately Anna’s size. Is that perhaps what you had in mind?”

  “A loup-garou will generally rely on scent rather than sight,” Cort said. “If you dress in Anna’s clothes, Brecht or any werewolves in his employ will follow you instead of her.”

  “Out of the question,” Yuri said, starting up from his chair. “If there is the slightest chance that Brecht has not left San Francisco…”

  “I think it is a good idea,” Babette said, reaching toward Yuri as if to ease him down again. “I see no reason to believe that this scheme will be particularly perilous.”

  The Russian snorted loudly. “I presume you plan to accompany Anna while I escort Babette,” he said to Cort.

  “Is it not the most sensible approach?” Babette said before Cort could reply.

  “Sensible!” Yuri said. “Convenient, you mean.” He glared at Cort. “If I did not know you better, I would assume you were trying to preserve your own skin at our expense.”

  The bitterness of Yuri’s accusation cut Cort far more deeply than he could have expected. Yuri had no idea how little he wanted to travel alone with A
ria.

  “If I believed you would be in any danger,” Cort said stiffly, “I would find another way. This is only—”

  Rising with an abrupt, angry motion, Yuri circled the room. “What is the rest of this plan?”

  “You will take the ferry, then board the train bound for San Jose. Anna and I will travel by steamboat and rail to Sacramento.”

  “And should anyone follow us and discover their mistake,” Babette said, “they will simply get off at the next stop and resume their search for the real Lucienne Renier.”

  “I am reassured,” Yuri said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “But you have not considered the possibility that they may wish to question us as to Cort’s intentions.”

  The force of Yuri’s protests seemed more than a little out of character to Cort. The Russian had certainly been willing to take risks in the past when the reward was great enough, and this scheme was far less dangerous than many they’d attempted.

  “I suggest that we arrange a public falling-out,” Cort said. “Anna can pretend that she wants nothing more to do with me, and you’ll have ample reason to claim that we have broken off our partnership.”

  “Why should Brecht or his men believe that she wants to leave you,” Yuri said, “after you fought beside her against them? She has obviously made no attempt to run away before. And Brecht will have realized that you don’t work for the Reniers any more than he does. Why should you let Anna go with me?”

  “C’est facile,” Babette said. “Yuri and I shall conceal ourselves somewhere until the morning after the fight, making it appear as if Anna has fled, and Cort will appear greatly angered to anyone who may be watching. Then Cort and Anna, posing as myself, can reveal an intention to search for the runaway, delaying while Yuri and I go on to the ferry.”

  “You make it sound simple,” Yuri said with a sneer.

  “I do not see why it should not be.”

  “My dear Babette, I never realized that your intellect was as well developed as—” Yuri looked her up and down, his gaze coming to rest on her bosom, and made a gesture that took in her entire body.