Madame was sputtering. “I—I still say…”
Drake was enjoying himself immensely, and did not allow interruption. “Boucher’s paintings were the opposite of insipid. They had sparkle. Bite.” He laughed. “Think how people must have responded in those days to a little Boucher shepherdess in satins and silks, with a powdered chignon, going barefoot. Back then, no well-bred female ever walked out of her bedchamber without her shoes…t’would have been sexually provocative.”
Suddenly, he whirled on Madame Letoye and demanded reproachfully, “And you consider sixty thousand francs exorbitant to pay for a Boucher?” He quickly drew his wallet from inside his coat, turning to Dani once more. “I will buy the painting, mademoiselle. If this—this dilettante…”
He paused to give Madame a withering glare before continuing. “If she ever learns anything about the world of art, she just might want to buy it, and I’ve taken a fancy to it myself.”
He counted out sixty thousand francs.
Madame Letoye’s eyes grew wide as she furiously searched for words with which to defend herself. None came. She had been put in her place…soundly.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she turned on her heel and marched out of the store, wide hips swinging from side to side.
Once the door slammed behind her, Drake and Dani convulsed with laughter. After several moments, Dani proclaimed, “You don’t have to buy the painting,” and held out the money to him.
He waved it away. “No. I want it. Really. I’ll send someone for it later.”
“But you don’t have to,” she persisted. “If you hadn’t come to my rescue, I would have lost my temper with that—that puffed-up old bag!”
“I want the painting and that’s final.”
She held up both hands in a gesture of defeat. “All right, I’ll take your money. Are you satisfied?” she asked, feigning annoyance.
“No!” Drake said, grabbing her around her waist and jerking her against him. “I won’t be satisfied until I’ve had this. His lips closed upon hers.
Dani responded, wrapping her arms about him. Oh, how wonderful it felt to be so close to him, to feel the heat of his body melding with her own. With just one kiss, the juices of desire were flowing, and she acknowledged, once more, that never, ever, had a man affected her this way.
Reluctantly, she broke from his embrace. “And what if someone walks in, sir?”
“We’re going to take care of that right now.”
While Dani watched, mystified, he went to the front door and locked it. Then, after turning the little painted sign from OPEN to proclaim CLOSED, he drew down the shade, retrieved the wicker basket he’d brought with him, and returned to where Dani stood. He held out his hand to her.
“Come along. You’ve got a beautiful spot for a picnic in that tiny courtyard out back, and Paris will not be blessed with such beautiful autumn days much longer.”
Delighted, Dani squeezed his hand and allowed him to lead her to the rear door. There was a tiny patch of grass beyond, perhaps only ten feet square, surrounded by rock walls to separate it from other yards, but it was enough for a picnic in the warm fall sunshine.
From the basket, Drake took a tablecloth of blue-and-white gingham, which he spread in the center of the grassy court, then gestured for Dani to sit down, which she did, primly tucking her skirts under her. Then he brought forth an assortment of delights: Brie cheese, fresh bread, black sausage, grapes, plums, and a bottle of white wine and two glasses.
Dani could not resist clapping her hands together in delight.
Drake was pleased with her response. “So! You like picnics. I’ll remember that, and next time, I’ll spirit you away to somewhere…private!”
He nodded to an old woman staring from an open window in the building next door. When Dani turned to follow his gaze, the woman flashed them a look of disgust, withdrew her head, and slammed the window with a loud thud.
Then, with a shadow of chagrin, Dani admitted quietly, “I’ve never been on a picnic before. Life with my aunt did not include such frivolities, I’m afraid.”
Drake had heard a tale about her having been brought up by a relative and not her father, by way of explanation as to the finding of the paintings in a château she’d inherited. “Sounds as though you had an unpleasant childhood, Dani. I’m sorry. How old were you when you went to live with your aunt?” He was thinking that perhaps she might inadvertently tell him something that would give, a clue as to how the Alexandrovsky painting wound up in the hands of Count deBonnett in Monaco.
Dani intended to share only a little of her past with Drake, for, although their relationship was growing intensely, she did not want to divulge all the nightmares and anguish of the past. Yet, the more she talked, the more she revealed, for he was an easy listener, and his eyes reflected that he truly cared, truly wanted to share her pain in order to know everything possible about her. He continued to pour wine into her glass each time it was empty, and with the warmth of the sun above, and the, nectar within, she began to feel mellow…and the words flowed easily.
As Drake listened to her mention, though briefly, her time in the convent and the incident with Colt and Briana, he found himself wondering whether young Coltrane had been scorched enough by women in the past that he would not be susceptible to someone as cunning and crafty as Lily. Too, he was starting to understand what made Dani strive so hard to be independent, to associate relationships with relinquishment of her own will.
And, he acknowledged silently, grimly, he was going to pay hell getting his hands on that painting if her mind was truly set against selling it. Further, he knew it was time that he put aside the emotions he was feeling for her and think about doing just that…ultimately restoring the family honor. Until he achieved that, his life, as far as he was concerned, was in a state of limbo.
“And you?”
Drake blinked himself back to the present.
Dani was prodding. “What about you, Drake? You’re such an enigma.”
Drake shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell, really. My family is dead. There’s only me.”
“And you roam Europe, never Russia,” she pointed out. “Why?”
“When I find what I’m looking for, then I’ll stop roaming.” He gave her a teasing smile.
“And what is it you seek?”
He set his empty glass aside, took hers away also. Then, not caring that others might be watching, he pulled her into his arms. Caressing her, with his eyes, his tone was husky, thick with desire.
“I’m looking for the perfect woman who can give me everything I need and want in this life.”
Dani fought the tremors erupting within, did not want him to know how he was affecting her. Struggling to sound playful, she said, “And what will you do with her when you find her?”
He bent his head, so that his lips, warm, seeking, could brush ever so lightly against hers. “Attempt to make her as happy as she makes me…forever and always.”
Dani knew that if she did not end the tense moment then, she would not find the strength, or will, to do so again. Pressing her palms firmly against his shoulders, she pushed herself away, then scrambled to stand on shaking legs.
“I’ve really got to get back inside and reopen the shop,” she said quickly, too quickly perhaps, for he was watching her with amusement twinkling in his dark eyes, fully aware of the desire he had ignited within her.
“I’m expecting Madame Francia Mebane,” she went on, gathering the picnic items and placing them in the basket in a near-frenzy. “I’d completely forgotten about her. I’m sorry, Drake. Forgive me for rushing, but she’s coming by to look at a pair of ivory doves I purchased last week.”
Drake had slowly gotten to his feet, then suddenly reached out to grab her roughly and hold her tightly, possessively, for a smoldering kiss before gravely pronouncing, “The time is going to come sooner than you think, milady, when you can no longer talk your way around the one thing we both have on our minds…the on
e thing we both genuinely want.”
Dani gave him a slightly scathing look. “You presume too much,” she snapped waspishly, then swished by him.
She was not truly angry, and they both knew it. They were each biding their time, waiting for what might happen, if fate so decreed it, neither wanting to rush, for both had their reasons for not wanting to be committed to an individual…or a situation.
Inside, Dani hung up the OPEN sign, unlocked the door, then turned to see Drake again admiring the painting of the Russian palace. “You really find that interesting, don’t you?” She went to stand beside him.
Drake nodded thoughtfully, decided it should not make her suspicious to merely talk about the painting. “Aren’t you ever curious as to how such a crude and amateurish effort came into the possession of Count deBonnett…or why he would want to hide it with his valuable possessions?”
“I haven’t really thought about it, to be perfectly honest. The Count was a rather strange person, and I kept my distance as much as possible.”
Drake pressed on. “Tell me about him. What was he like?”
“He kept to himself, more to avoid Aunt Alaina than anything else, I think. They never got along well. I can remember them arguing much of the time. He was also a compulsive gambler, and they fought about that.” She paused, stared off into the distance as though her mind had gone way, way back in time, then murmured, “I’m really surprised they ever lived together. It was as though they despised each other.”
Bitterly, for he was reminded of his own parents’ miserable marriage, Drake said, “When it’s that bad, I think people should go their separate ways instead of living in hell…which is what it must be like to have that kind of marriage.”
“They did separate…for a time. I was around ten years old, I think,” she recalled. “Anyway, it wasn’t Uncle Claude’s gambling that was a problem. It just seemed that he and Aunt Alaina quarreled all the time. Finally, he said he couldn’t take it anymore, and he moved out and went to Paris to live. Aunt Alaina said she didn’t care, because she had the château, and plenty of his money. Then she heard gossip that he was having a torrid affair, and she started worrying that he would fall in love with another woman and want a divorce, and not being a citizen of France, she wasn’t sure where that would leave her. She didn’t want to go back to America. She was really in a dither.”
Drake’s interest was piqued, and he quickly figured out that if Dani were ten at the time Claude deBonnett left his wife and moved to Paris, it would have been around the same time his mother was supposedly living there, also. Was that how the Count came into possession of the painting? “Do go on,” he urged.
“There really isn’t much more to tell,” she said with a shrug. “Aunt Alaina went to Paris, intending to persuade Uncle Claude to go home with her and mend their marriage, but as it turned out, she had no difficulty in getting him to return. She arrived around the time his lady love died, and he was so grief-stricken that he didn’t care what happened to him. That is the time, I remember, that he began to drink and gamble heavily, staying away from the château for days and nights on end. From that point on, I’m sure theirs was a marriage in name only.”
Drake tensed, felt the nerves in his jaws tighten. Could it be…or was it a mere coincidence? “Tell me,” he pressed. “What did your aunt say about your uncle’s lady friend? Was she wealthy? Of the noble class?”
Dani shook her head and laughed, “Oh, no. Far from it, according to Aunt Alaina. I overheard her screaming at Uncle Claude about her, calling her all sorts of nasty names…but making marked references to her social and political stature—names like anarchist, revolutionary.”
Dani went on to confide that back then, it had been a game with her and Briana to find out as much as possible about the Count’s romance. Briana overheard him babbling to himself in a drunken stupor about his love, about how beautiful she was. With flourish, Dani dramatically quoted, “‘Her eyes were as blue as the robin’s egg—’”
She fell silent, placing a hand over her mouth, then exclaimed shamefully, “Oh, I’m sorry. I have no right to make fun. He loved her, or thought he did, and now they’re both dead, and I’m wrong to ridicule. It’s just that, at the time, Briana and I were just curious little girls, playing a game of spying on grown-ups.”
Drake ignored her confession. “Did he ever mention her name?”
Dani thought a moment. “No, not that I recall.”
He did not realize he had been holding his breath until it came out in a sudden rush. Then, gesturing toward the painting, he quietly stated, “I want to buy that painting, Dani. Name your price, I’ll pay it.”
Dani frowned. “It’s not for sale.” Then, “Why do you want it so badly?”
“Memories of Russia,” he said, smiling. “Good memories. I should think it would hold bad memories for you.”
She shook her head. “I’m putting the past behind me. To sell something I’m fond of because it might remind me of something unpleasant would be hiding from the past…and that’s wrong.”
Above the front door, the little silver bell jingled.
They turned, then Dani whispered, “It’s Madame Mebane,” and left him to walk toward her customer, softly calling a cheery greeting.
Drake turned his attention to the painting of the Alexandrovsky Palace once more, allowing his consciousness to be attacked and besieged with provoking contemplations.
Paris, circa 1881.
The time his mother had reportedly lived in Paris.
Count deBonnett had had an affair with a woman who died, in Paris, around 1881.
The time his mother had died…in Paris.
The Count’s paramour was said to have had eyes as blue as a robin’s egg.
The same could be said about the color of his mother’s eyes.
The Countess deBonnett had referred to her husband’s love as an anarchist…a revolutionary.
A fair, accurate description of his mother’s political doctrine.
It was becoming clear why the Count had in his possession the painting of the Alexandrovsky Palace and why he had hidden it along with his other valuable works. In all probability, he had not known the secret, or the significance—only that it had been entrusted to his care by the woman he had loved
Who had to be Annine Mikhailonov…his mother.
His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, eyes narrowing with the immensity of his determination.
He had to have that painting!
The sound of Dani’s voice penetrated his concentration as she spoke with her customer about the grouse minaudières.
He acknowledged that he found Dani to be the loveliest and most exciting woman he had ever met. With her zest for life, it was exhilarating just to be around her. Never did they seem to be at a loss for something to talk about, which was certainly a pleasant change from the giggling, empty-headed fluffs he normally encountered. Dani was refreshing, invigorating. He cared for her as a person and as a friend, did not regard her as someone to bed, to savor and enjoy until satiated before moving on to yet another. She was different, and he knew, somehow, that they would never be bored with each others.
Perhaps, he mused with a mixture of bitterness and sadness, when the mystery was solved, the Fabergé egg returned to the reigning Czar, Alexander III, to prove his father’s innocence of revolutionary activities, then, and only then, could he deal with his distrust of women…and be freed from the bitter memories of his mother’s deceit and abandonment.
But until that time came, Drake knew he could not commit himself to Dani or any woman. Nothing was more important to him than the painting, and nothing—or no one—must stand in his way of getting it.
Chapter Fifteen
Madame Mebane bought the doves, then requested to see the much talked-about “Monaco Find”. Drake stood aside as Dani obliged. Madame was properly impressed but not really interested in paintings. A Meissen teapot, in the Japanese Imari style, caught her fancy. This time, t
here was a friendly discussion over price, but Madame made the purchase and finally left, pleased with the results of her afternoon shopping jaunt.
When the door closed behind her, Dani sighed, but with happiness. “Sorry about the interruption, but I am running a business, you know.”
“And doing quite well,” Drake amiably pointed out. Then he stepped forward to place his hands upon her shoulders. “I want to be alone with you, Dani. Truly alone. Come to my apartment tonight and have dinner with me. I know a wonderful chef who’ll cook for us and then send his waiters over to serve us. How does that sound?”
“Lovely,” she admitted, “but have you already forgotten that unpleasant little scene with my father? If he found out I went alone to your apartment, he’d be furious.”
“Must you tell him? If he asks, say we’re going out for dinner.”
She did not like lying but reminded herself that her father’s old-fashioned values left her no choice. “I would love to have dinner with you,” she told him brightly.
“Wonderful,” he murmured, gathering her close against him, then lowering his lips to hers.
Cyril had seen enough. He had stood outside the shop for almost two hours, waiting for Drakar to leave. He had seen him arrive and enter only seconds before him, so he had decided to spy rather than burst in and risk annoying Dani as he had once before.
Then, when she had hung the CLOSED sign on her door, he had crept forward to peer in the window just in time to see them disappear out the back way. He had already suspected Drakar’s basket contained food for a picnic. So he had hurried to the rear of the building and crouched behind stacks of garbage cans to peer through a tiny hole in the brick wall.
Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5 Page 15