Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5

by Patricia Hagan

  “You’ll just have to come back for seconds, and thirds, and fourths,” Dani teased.

  He nodded toward her own plate, barely filled with dainty portions. “Women!” he scoffed. “It is an absolute sin not to be piggish when you have a chance to eat these delicacies.”

  “Enjoy them today and suffer for weeks trying to lose the extra pounds.”

  He shook his head, lifted a frog’s leg and took a bite, then sighed. “I don’t care. It’s worth every ounce!”

  Just then Kitty called, “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you two.” In mock reproach, she turned to Cyril. “How dare you spirit her away from her own party, sir?”

  Cyril knew she was teasing but still felt a wave of resentment. Stiffly, he informed her, “It was not me she was with, madame, to my sorrow, I might add.”

  Kitty looked to Dani curiously.

  “I met the famous Drakar,” Dani nonchalantly explained.

  Kitty recalled the disgust Dani had felt over the situation at Derryateau concerning Drakar and decided she should have discussed inviting him with her, but there had been so much going on lately that she really had not thought about it.

  “Travis said Drakar called on him at the embassy,” she explained, “and said that he had heard about your finding the paintings in Monaco and expressed an interest in them. Travis has always gotten on well with him and enjoyed the times they had met at various socials, so, you know your father, always the genial host. He invited him to come today.”

  Cyril, frowning, asked, “What is his interest? He’s no collector. From what I hear, he is nothing more than a—a sybarite!” he stammered, struggling to hold back his resentment.

  Kitty gave him a strange look, decided he was obviously jealous. “I really don’t know, Cyril, except that Travis did say something about Drakar hearing that one of the paintings was of a palace in Russia, and since that is his homeland, he wanted to view it.”

  Cyril felt a churning sensation in the pit of his stomach. His suspicion was correct. Drakar was hoping to find the Alexandrovsky Palace painting.

  It was only with great effort that he affected a normal voice to ask, “And has he seen it?”

  Both Kitty and Dani looked at him.

  Cyril cursed himself for being so obvious. He must never let them know there was any connection between Drakar and the Alexandrovsky Palace. He attempted to steer the conversation away from the painting. With a chary expression, he smoothly stated, “I admit I wanted to be the only one honored with a private showing, and”—he gave Dani a fond look—“to share your company for the same.”

  Dani again ignored his flirting.

  Kitty laughed. “Well, you may relax, Cyril. You are the only one she’s granted the privilege to. Frankly, I forgot all about it, so he will just have to stand in line like everyone else at Monday’s grand opening.”

  No, he doesn’t, Dani mischievously thought to herself. No, he doesn’t, because I find him quite appealing and charming, and I think I am actually looking forward to breaking down that supercilious façade of his and getting to know the real Drakar!

  Kitty touched her arm in a gesture of apology. “You aren’t upset because I invited him?”

  “Of course not,” Dani responded tartly. “He seems quite nice. We had a delightful time.”

  “Good.” Kitty, kissed her cheek, hugged her, stepped back. “Now you two go and enjoy yourselves. I want to see you having the time of your lives and dancing the night away.”

  Cyril was seething inside but managed to appear calm. Drakar was going to try and get his hands on that painting. No doubt about that. He was also a stellar adversary where Dani was concerned. He had seen the way they had looked at each other. She had not looked at him that way, by God. He was beside himself, wondering what he should do. If he warned her about Drakar and his reputation with women, she might be offended and tell him to mind his own business. That would drive her away. He did not want that. True, he wanted the painting, wanted to find the secret himself, but, ultimately, if Drakar did get his hands on it first, well, Dani could hardly be called the spoils of war! He would get something he wanted desperately.

  But he wanted both…and he was not going to give up easily!

  He decided to approach her gently, cautiously. They were walking about the gardens, having finished their dinner, nodding and speaking with guests at random. Soon, all festivities would center around the dancing. He liked the way they had paired off together, as though they were together. Perhaps Drakar would see, and realize that he was butting in. Quietly, he began, “The Russian, how did you find him?”

  Dani was lost in her own thoughts—about Drakar—and she glanced up sharply and replied, “He was nice. Why?”

  Cyril sensed her defensiveness. His suspicions were correct, dammit. She was smitten by the voluptuous Russian. He reminded himself once more to choose his words carefully.

  “I was just wondering. I have met him a few times at openings, showings, and such. He’s somewhat of an enigma. No one seems to know where his money comes from. No one seems to know what he does…he just seems to flit about with a pretty, and usually quite rich, woman on his arm.”

  Dani could not help laughing. “Cyril, you sound jealous!”

  He felt his cheeks redden. “I most certainly am not. Why would I be jealous of a man who is without respect by his peers?”

  Dani frowned. She really did not want to discuss Drakar with Cyril. Besides, for the moment, she was merely intrigued by him, certainly not involved, and there was no need to make a fuss. “I think this conversation is a waste of our time,” she said pointedly, “and not how I want to spend my time at my own party. Do you mind?”

  Cyril sucked in his breath, held it. Damn, damn, damn, he had really done it. He let his breath out slowly, felt his tight lips spread into a smile he did not truly feel. “You are absolutely right. I sound like a gossiping old woman.”

  Dani was quick to quip, “A gossiping old man, sir. Do not single out women as the only sex to enjoy spreading rumors.”

  Cyril struggled to keep smiling. She had done it again—put him in his place. Dani Coltrane was truly unlike any woman he had ever encountered in his life…and he thought he had seen all kinds. He decided to quickly broach another subject. “I know you probably have a lot to do tomorrow to get ready for Monday,” he began cheerily, “so I will just come by and get you in my carriage, and we will go together to Montmartre.”

  “No!” Dani said quickly, too quickly…and sharply, for she saw that he was looking at her oddly. She hastened to explain. “Not that I don’t appreciate your offer, Cyril, but my plans are made. Kitty is going to help me,” she lied. In truth, Kitty and Travis had a government social to attend that would keep them busy into the evening.

  Cyril was not to be easily put off. “I am sure you could use more help,” he stated evenly, wondering why she was behaving so strangely. “I have no plans. I would be happy to help,” he persisted.

  Dani groaned inwardly. She did not want to hurt his feelings, but she was not going to allow him to manipulate her. “No, Cyril,” she said firmly, “I want to do things my way. I appreciate your offer to help, but I do not need it.”

  Their eyes met and held. Cyril knew it was useless to argue. He also knew that something was going on…something probably concerning Drakar, whom he could see approaching from the corner of his eye. “Very well,” he said finally, somehow able to keep that infernal false smile on his lips, “but if you change your mind, you can send word by messenger.”

  “Of course.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Drakar walked up, nodded curtly to Cyril, as though his presence were acknowledged, then dismissed. He held out his hand to Dani and warmly whispered, “I believe you promised me another dance.”

  Dani murmured a barely audible, “You will excuse me, won’t you?” to Cyril, then allowed the most handsome and exciting man she had ever met to lead her to the pavilion.

  Cyril ground
his teeth together until his jaw ached. He could not, he vowed, allow it to happen. Drakar was only interested in Dani because of the painting. He was going to make a fool of her as he had all the other women in his past, but Cyril was not going to allow it to happen. He had heard the story about her past, how she had been in a convent, then left before taking her final vows. She was not used to men in general, much less worldly, sophisticated womanizers like that damned Russian. She might be angry now, for his interfering, but later she would be grateful.

  His mind was made up. Tomorrow afternoon, he would go to the shop in Montmartre and tell her everything he knew, everything she needed to know, about Drakar.

  Chapter Ten

  It was after one in the afternoon when Dani, Kitty, and Travis left their mansion. They had all slept late, for it had been almost dawn when the party had finally ended.

  Kitty admitted sleepily she would still be in bed were it not for the embassy function she and Travis were expected to attend. “Of all times for an ambassador to arrive,” she had groaned as the Coltrane carriage pulled away from the gates. “I don’t exactly need another party right now.”

  Travis had just smiled; he knew she really did not mind. She loved going anywhere with him, for business or social reasons, and that was one of the myriad of reasons he adored her so.

  As they rode through the streets of Paris in the warmth of the golden afternoon, they talked happily of the events of the night before. Never, they were in agreement, had there been a more successful gala in Pans. People would be talking about it for months…maybe longer.

  Kitty could not resist teasing Dani about Drakar. “You two really had the gossips buzzing. You also had poor Cyril fuming, I’m afraid,” she added.

  Dani gave her what she hoped was a bewildered look.

  “Really? Then they must have been starving for something to talk about. We merely shared a few dances.” She was glad she did not have to go to the ambassador’s reception with them, would only be riding as far as the bridge across the Seine to the Right Bank. The rest of the way was a pleasant walk to Montmartre, and she was looking forward to it, for she had many thoughts to ponder before seeing Drake again.

  She suppressed a smile, covered her lips with her fingertips, and turned her head as she remembered the incident when she had called him Drake for the first time. After they had danced, they had walked once more down to the river’s edge in unspoken yearning to be alone.

  “Drake?” he had echoed, wondering if he had heard her correctly.

  “Yes,” she was quick to inform him. “I like that better. Drakar sounds like a…a vampire!” she had said with a laugh.

  He had been delighted. “I think I like that better, and you’re right. I suppose my name does evoke thoughts of vampires.” He made a growling sound, deep in his throat, lowered his lips to her neck and murmured, “Aren’t you afraid to be alone with me, my dear?”

  She laughed, pulled away from his embrace and teased, “Yes, but not because I fear you’re a vampire.”

  He knew what she meant, and they exchanged a warm look filled with hidden meanings, and stirrings, and as Dani thought about it now, she was almost sure that had another couple not come walking by at that precise moment, he would have kissed her. Had she wanted him to? When they were still strangers to each other? Yes, she silently, firmly, avowed. She had wanted his kiss, and she was not ashamed to admit it…at least not to herself. She knew Kitty and her father would probably be appalled.

  Travis brought her out of her reverie with the question “How did you like Drakar? I find him to be very nice, a quite learned gentleman, but somewhat of an enigma. No one seems to know very much about him.”

  Dani made her tone casual. “As I said, we shared a few dances. We talked. He’s very interesting.”

  “Cyril calls him a sybarite,” Kitty could not resist interjecting.

  “That would certainly be a paradox, when Cyril Arpel has probably visited every bordello in Europe,” Travis scoffed.

  “Now, Travis,” Kitty admonished, “you don’t know that to be true!”

  Travis gave her a lazy, knowing smile. “Unlike you women, I never make a statement unless I know it to be true. And so what if Drakar is a pleasure-seeker? I consider that his business.”

  Kitty was at once indignant. “Not if he is trifling with your daughter.”

  Dani looked from one to the other and groaned. How she wished sometimes she had her own apartment, could live by herself and truly be independent in every phase of her life.

  “Dani is a big girl,” Travis said quietly. “I think she can take care of herself.”

  “Maybe,” Kitty said with a wink, “but I worry because Drakar reminds me of you when I first met you.”

  Travis pretended to be shocked, shook his head and cried, “God help Drakar if Dani is anything like you were! His heart is lost.”

  It was time for the carriage to turn from the Rue de Rivoli and head for the Place Vendôme. Designed for Louis XIV by the brilliant Mansart at the end of the seventeenth century, it was the location for the reception for the new ambassador from Morocco, and it was considered one of the architectural beauty spots of Paris.

  The carriage rolled to a stop, and Travis helped Dani alight to the cobblestone street. “I wish you were coming with us. What time would you like me to send the carriage for you?”

  She told him she would make her own way home, not to worry about her. “I have much to do, and I’m looking forward to it. I don’t want to be tied to a schedule.”

  Travis frowned but said nothing. He would have preferred her to not be so independent but was determined to let his daughter spread her wings and fly, if that was what she wanted. Life with Alaina must have been hell on Earth. Dani deserved some freedom…and happiness.

  Dani could see the spiraling white towers of the Sacré Coeur peeking from behind the corners of the narrow streets. She hesitated, pursed her lips thoughtfully. It was such a gloriously beautiful day that she just had to yield to the temptation of a bit of sightseeing before continuing on to the shop.

  She went to the Sacré Coeur, the “Church of the Sacred Heart”, and drew in her breath in awe at the sight of the impressively massive interior, said to be able to hold nine thousand people. There were ornate mosaics, but she was not, at the moment, interested in the decor. Instead, she climbed the steep stairs to the top of the dome where the view offered a miraculous, panorama of Paris and a distance of thirty miles or more in any direction.

  Dani loved Paris, and France, and seeing the glorious splendor spread out before her only made her appreciate even more her newfound freedom. Yet, she knew she wanted more.

  She thought of Drake, the way he made her feel. Yes, he was a womanizer, no doubt about that, but she liked him, and felt confident that he would not manipulate her as he did his other women. She would make sure of that.

  So why, she asked herself with a touch of trepidation, was she filled with such anxiety at the thought of being with him again?

  The answer was quite, simple.

  Never had she known anyone like him; therefore, there was no precedent, no comparison, no experience to rely on. Truly she was on her own and would be forced to deal with each and every moment of their time together on sheer instinct alone.

  Suddenly, Dani laughed aloud, and it was a good feeling, there on the terrace of the Sacré Coeur, with Paris sprawled before her in all its glory. She was not, she acknowledged firmly, afraid of this dashingly handsome Russian. In reality, she was looking forward to what was surely to be an exciting time in her life…no matter the outcome!

  The shop was located on Place du Tertre, and Dani was quite proud of the building she had purchased. The space she would be occupying was not very large, but she would expand as her business grew. Young painters lived in the rooms on the floors above, and she looked forward to making friends with them.

  She unlocked the front door, and after taking off her shawl, she began an inspection of her inventory. W
ith Kitty’s help and expertise, they had located another antique shop in another section of Paris that was being sold. Not interested in the store’s location, Dani had been able to acquire its contents, for the owner had died, and the heirs were interested in liquidating everything as quickly as possible.

  She lovingly viewed her favorite pieces from the purchase: a yellow-flowered pearwood table with intricate carvings; luscious linen hangings from Belgium; Flemish paintings dating back to the 1520s; an 1806 portrait of someone unknown by Sir Henry Raeburn.

  There were Japanese cloisonné pieces that several people had heard about and told her at last night’s social that they were interested in buying. It was amazing, she reflected, how the same pieces had probably been for sale for years in the other shop, in another location, but because of her social position, the fact that she was wealthy in her own right, people wanted to buy from her.

  Dani walked to where the Monaco paintings were displayed on one wall, which she had delicately covered in pale blue silk to give them the most elegant background. As always, she became transfixed by the crude rendering of the famed Alexandrovsky Palace. There was just something about it, something she could not explain, that held her fascinated. At first, she thought perhaps it was its frame. Roughly made of some kind of woven twigs, it had been rubbed smooth, as though someone had whiled away many hours long after the painting was completed. But why? She shook her head in response to her own question, knew it was not merely the frame. There was just something sad and haunting about the work. The palace was, no doubt, dazzling in reality, but the artist, obviously an amateur, had somehow managed to capture its architectural splendor while at the same time enveloping it in a melancholy aura.

  Dani sighed, shuddered, thought how there was something almost frightening there. Yet she adored it, had no intentions of selling it, no matter how high the offer. Soon, she would be going to Austria and would, no doubt, purchase many other paintings to stock her gallery. After the grand opening, the Alexandrovsky Palace painting would be stored away for the future as part of her own personal collection.