Drakar told her not to feel pity. “I’m still having him watched. He’s seeing one of his old girlfriends and having a marvelous time.”
Dani was amazed that Cyril could stoop so low but conceded it would be quite valuable to his career to be the one to discover the secret of the painting, and, subsequently, the famous missing Fabergé egg.
The nerve in Drakar’s jaw tightened as she spoke, then he tersely predicted, “Well, he’s going to be very disappointed because we’re going to get it back. Evidently, he hasn’t figured out the secret, or he’d have done so by now.”
Worriedly, Dani asked if he thought he’d be able to unravel the mystery.
“Given enough time to study the painting, yes. I’m not worried about that. I just have to get my hands on it, that’s all.”
“I’ll help any way I can.”
His voice was warm, as caressing as his hands that moved along her back and downward to cup her buttocks and press her closer to him. “It helps just knowing you’re on my side, Dani, that you’re with me in this.”
He kissed her, and this time they gently fell upon the bed, yielding to the rising passion within, the emotions of desire that would not be denied.
Chapter Thirty
Two nights passed before Drake and Dani dared to enter Cyril’s shop, located on a busy street facing the Griboyedov Canal. The first night, they had stood outside at dusk long enough to see his guest of the evening entering. Knowing the tall, thin dark-haired woman would, no doubt, stay until dawn in his rooms upstairs, they had turned away in disappointment, their plans for burglary thwarted for the night.
Each day, Cyril had invited Dani to go out with him in the evening, and she had made her excuses. He then made his own plans.
The evenings, however, Dani happily reflected, had not been wasted, for she and Drake had spent the time in his hotel room over intimate dinners, getting to know each other, no longer concealing anything from each other.
There had, however, been a confrontation of sorts between Colt and Drake when Dani had brought them together at breakfast in her suite the morning after her reunion with Drake.
At first, Colt had been belligerent, angry, but she had pleaded with him to listen to everything Drake had to say. Finally, he had grudgingly consented and Drake explained his scheme to expose Lily, then went on to confide his own past, so that Colt would not think him responsible for the theft of the painting.
At first, Colt was dubious, but, as Drake talked, he sensed, as Dani had, that he was telling the truth. Finally, he was able to give his blessings to both in their attempt to recover the painting and to their renewed relationship.
Dani wondered later about how preoccupied Colt had seemed. The past few days he’d suddenly begun to behave mysteriously, making excuses to spend time alone, saying he had some sightseeing to do on his own. Acknowledging that it was of course his business, she was still curious.
Meanwhile, Dani and Drake were growing closer with each hour they spent together, and Dani privately acknowledged that if what she was feeling for him was not love, then never would she understand either the true meaning of the word or the emotion.
She dared to believe, also, from the look in his warm blue eyes when he held her and made love to her, that he was also experiencing the same feelings.
But they needed time, she knew, much time, for each to come to terms with the true depth of their feelings.
Most of all, it was imperative that Drake get the painting into his possession and once and for all unravel the mystery and end the quest that was consuming his life.
But…unless they were able to get inside Cyril’s shop, that all-important time was standing still.
Finally, on the third night, their vigil was rewarded when Cyril left his shop and hailed a passing carriage. Dressed regally, he was obviously going to an opera or concert, and would be out for many hours.
They watched the carriage disappear into a whirl of snow, then, hand in hand, they ran across the street, boots crunching in the ice and snow.
The door was locked, of course, but Drake was prepared. Reaching into his pocket for the special tool he’d brought, he slipped it into the keyhole and within seconds, the door swung open without evidence of burglary. Once inside, he locked it once more, lest a policeman come by, routinely checking.
They opened a glass door and entered the wide hallway that served as Cyril’s modest gallery. Dani was unimpressed with the art displayed, finding none of any great merit.
There was a door at the end of the gallery, and one on each side. The one on the left opened to a stairway to the rooms upstairs. On the right, there was a small room, empty, which Dani said was a private salon, provided for any patron wishing to be alone for contemplation of a work he was considering buying.
“We’ll go upstairs after we check out his office,” Drake said, moving through the remaining door.
The room was large and furnished with a desk, several chairs, and a small sofa. Shelves stacked with books and papers covered one wall; two trunks stood against another. In a corner stood empty discarded shipping crates for paintings.
“Check everything,” Drake directed crisply. “Even the shipping crates. The painting was small and might be stuck down in one of those. I’ll take care of these.” He moved to one of the trunks and began to rummage through prints and old canvasses, obviously worthless.
Dani stepped away from the crates, disappointed. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing here.”
Together, they searched everything else in the room, then Drake glanced around in futility and sighed. “Well, it’s obvious he didn’t hide it down here. It’s probably upstairs where he can have more privacy scrutinizing it. Let’s go up there.”
They started to leave the office, but suddenly Drake reached out to pull Dani against him almost roughly. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered, then Dani also heard the sound of a woman laughing shrilly. He grabbed her hand, pulling her along with him as he stepped into the gallery. Ahead, through the frosted glass door, they could see two figures stepping into the foyer.
A woman’s voice. “I told you it would be much nicer here than at the opera. Wait till you taste the supper I’m going to make for you.”
Cyril’s voice, thick with lust, echoed, “I’d rather have a taste of you, my pet.”
The woman laughed again.
Drake gave Dani a tug. “In here. They won’t be going into the private salon.”
He closed the door quietly after them, and they stood very still in the darkness, scarcely daring to breathe as they listened to the sounds of Cyril and his lady friend making their way through the narrow gallery, finally disappearing up the stairway to his rooms.
Somewhere above a door slammed, and seizing the opportunity, Drake quickly led Dani from the building.
A short distance away, they found a café open. They hurried inside, and when they were settled at a table in a secluded corner and a pot of hot coffee had been served, Dani expressed her crushing disappointment.
“I’ll just have to spend an evening with Cyril to give you a chance to search the upstairs,” she dismally offered.
Drake concurred. “Have the embassy chef prepare a supper and invite him over,” he suggested. “It shouldn’t take me long.”
“What if you don’t find it? What if he’s already figured out the clues and found the egg and sold it?”
He had thought of that possibility but not with any great amount of concern. “I don’t think that’s likely. If he’d already found it, all of Europe would have heard about it by now. It’s worth a fortune in gold and diamonds, not to mention the artistic value because it’s a Fabergé creation.”
“You need to find it as soon as possible,” Dani said, “and I’ll see to it that you have all the time you need tomorrow night. It’s going to be hard to be pleasant to that miserable little sneak after all he’s done, but he deserves to be on the receiving end of a little treachery. I’ll even try to kidnap Colt from whatever
he’s doing these evenings,” she rushed to add. “He can join us to keep Cyril from getting any romantic notions.”
There was the play of a smile on Drake’s lips. “I wonder where Colt’s spending his time. Surely there’s not a woman involved, as sour as he is on the opposite sex.”
Dani regretfully concurred. “I’m afraid that’s something he’ll have to resolve himself. Lily wasn’t the first to beguile him, but he’s promised himself she’ll be the last. He’s so afraid they’re all after his money.”
He struggled to keep a straight face. He felt a bit guilty over not confiding his scheme but was afraid she wouldn’t approve. Better, he felt, to never acknowledge he knew anything at all about Colt’s short-lived romance with Jade O’Bannon.
It had begun to snow quite hard, the wind whipping the frozen white crystals into cascading sheets that were blinding in intensity. Drake observed the impending danger of being caught away from their quarters in such weather and determined they should leave the café. He took Dani to the front door of the embassy and, after a soul-searing kiss, lustily told her, “We’re going to have to find a way to kiss each other good morning instead of good night.”
With that, he plunged into the whirling white night of frozen obscurity, and Dani stared after him wistfully—wantonly—for she wanted him with a passion that still awed her with its gnawing hunger.
Too keyed up to go to bed just yet, she went to Colt’s door and knocked, thinking how nice it would be for him to join her for hot chocolate and pastries. The embassy chef always left something in the kitchen for a midnight supper of sorts.
Colt opened the door almost at once. He was wearing a robe, and she was at once taken aback by the bright, happy glow in his eyes. She extended her invitation but he politely declined, saying he was tired, had already retired for the night, would see her in the morning. He almost closed the door in her face.
Dani then went to her own rooms, once again puzzled by Colt’s mysterious behavior, vowing that as soon as the situation with Drake and Cyril and the painting was resolved, she would find out just what was going on in her brother’s secret world.
Drake was surprised to find Jade in his hotel room, curled up in a chair by the window and staring out at the white world beyond, abject misery etched upon her lovely young face.
At once, he crossed the room to kneel before her and take her hands in his. “Jade, what’s wrong?” he worriedly asked. He could see the unshed tears glimmering in her awesomely beautiful eyes.
Wretchedly, she shook her head and looked at him with so much pain and despair that his own heart constricted with agony. Swallowing hard, she forced a smile and, with great effort, made her voice calm. “Well, did you find it?”
He shook his head miserably, released her hands and stood as he told what had happened. He saw her disappointment and rushed to explain the plans for the next night. “With Dani keeping Cyril busy, I should have ample time to look in his rooms upstairs. If the painting is there, rest assured I’ll find it.”
She nodded, turned sad eyes once more toward the window and the crystal-tinged darkness of the world beyond.
Drake was puzzled by her mood. “Jade, has Colt done something to hurt you?”
“No, nothing like that,” she was quick to assure him as she stood. Retrieving her cape from where she’d carelessly tossed it across the bed, she said, “I found an understudy who was eager to take my place after I pretended to sprain my ankle. Now I can spend my evenings with Colt, but in order to keep him believing I’m working as a maid at the embassy, I have to leave him for a few hours, then I go back to have a good-night drink. He’s waiting for me now. I just came by to see you and ask how things went tonight.
“It all leaves me quite tired, physically and emotionally,” she said with a sigh as Drake took her cape, draped it across her shoulders. “I’ll be relieved when it’s all over.”
He nodded with understanding. “It’s logical Colt would be leery of a new relationship, Jade. It may take a little time, but I’m confident that any night now he’ll do or say something that will put you in a position to declare that you just can’t feel any more for him than friendship, no matter how rich you’ve heard he is. Then,” he said in finality, kissing her cheeks in turn as he hugged her, “it will be all over, and I will forever be in your debt.”
He opened the door for her, and she stepped out into the hall, her parting words barely audible. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
Then she was gone.
And Drake was left staring after her, more bewildered than ever.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cyril stared at the painting lying on his bed, and frowned. Dammit, he had spent hours studying every detail and still had no clue as to where the revolutionary pseudo-artist had hidden the Fabergé egg. The painting was merely a crude replica of the palace. No more. No less. How in the hell did Koryatovich intend for anyone to guess where the treasure was hidden within? According to legend, no one, except for the Czar and a few confidants, even knew the subject of the famed painting. Others knew only of the rumor that Koryatovich had done a painting, giving the clues, and that it had been smuggled out of prison by his ladylove, Annine Mikhailonov.
Cyril felt abject frustration to actually possess the painting and not be able to decipher the mystery. There was certainly no one he could ask to help. He turned it over in his hands, shook his head. He’d removed the frame, made of some kind of wood he was unfamiliar with, certainly not from a tree found in Russia, to afford closer scrutiny…but to no avail.
Carelessly he bent to shove it under the bed, thinking angrily that the whole thing was probably a hoax.
He took one last look at his reflection in the full-length mirror. Dressed in a jacket of royal-blue velvet, tight elk-skin breeches, and an overcoat of black leather, he knew he looked extremely nice. Doubtless Dani would think so too. Perhaps, he mused, it was time to just forget about the painting, regard it as a myth, and concentrate on winning her heart. Then he could forget about a “find”, could even forget about seriously pursuing his career, because if he married into the Coltrane millions, he’d never have to work another day in his life.
He smiled at his reflection. Dani liked him. He was sure of it. True, she’d been busy on her own a few evenings since they’d arrived in Saint Petersburg, and he’d been miffed a time or two, but she was a Coltrane and it was only natural she’d be entertained by dignitaries now and then, and he wouldn’t be included. Still, once they were engaged, it would be a different story. He’d be accepted then.
He sighed with happiness just thinking how his life would be as the husband of Dani Coltrane. They would never want for anything, would travel the entire world like royalty. So, to hell with snobby old rich women nagging him to find them an exclusive painting to make their equally snobby friends envious, and to hell with crude little paintings with mysterious legends.
He was going to forget everything except the number-one priority in his life for the moment—making Dani his wife.
He picked up the little foil-wrapped box lying on the table. As soon as he’d received Dani’s handwritten note inviting him to supper in her quarters at the embassy, he’d visited the House of Fabergé on Bolshaya Morskaya Street to buy a special gift.
Peter Carl Fabergé himself had waited on Cyril. In 1870, at the age of twenty-four, he’d taken over the prestigious firm established by Gustav Fabergé in 1842. The House had grown steadily since, having been granted the Royal Warrant from Alexander III in 1885, after designing the first imperial Easter egg for the Empress Marie Feodorovna. In the same year, another honor was bestowed—a gold medal at the Nuremberg Fine Art exhibition for gold replicas of Scythian treasures. Then, in 1890, the premises in Saint Petersburg doubled in size, and another store was opened in Odessa.
Cyril was awed by the tiny gold brooch, not quite two inches in size, that Fabergé had offered him. In the form of a knotted bow of broad ribbon, it was enameled translucent pink over
a moiré background and bordered with rose diamonds set in silver.
There had been no quibbling over price. In the House of Fabergé, one never asked price. The piece was taken “on approval” and either returned within a few days, or payment rendered upon inquiry as to amount.
Cyril knew the piece was expensive, and while he was certainly a man of moderate means, such a gift was not in his budget. However, he considered it an investment in his future. If Dani accepted it, chances were he’d eventually win her hand, and once that happened, money would never again be a problem. He knew he could stall Fabergé for payment by telling him his lady friend had not yet made up her mind as to whether she liked the piece. And if she flatly refused to accept it, well, he’d just return it.
Whistling happily, Cyril put the tiny package in his coat pocket and left.
Dani waited impatiently for Cyril, anxious for the evening to be over. She wished Colt could have joined them to help relieve some of the pressure, but he had declined without explanation, merely said, with a mysterious smile, that he had other plans. Dani had not probed, for she respected his privacy, and suspected there was a woman involved. Good. Perhaps he was coming out of his bitter cynicism of females.
There was a soft knock on the door, and she checked her appearance in the gilded mirror. Her dress of mauve satin, the scooped neckline edged in mink, was tastefully alluring.
She swung open the door, and Cyril stood smiling at her, shining eyes becoming glazed with desire as they swept over her.
“Lovely, as always, my dear,” he said, kissing her hand. Then, once they were inside, he gave her the present. “For you, because you’ve come to mean so much to me,” he murmured.
Dani groaned inwardly. She didn’t want any gifts from him. With effort, she made her voice pleasant. “Cyril, you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t necessary.” She laid the gift on the sideboard next to the door, dismissing it as she gestured to the array of crystal decanters and glasses. “Would you care for a drink before dinner?”
Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5 Page 29