Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5

by Patricia Hagan

  Cyril was bewildered. It was not like Dani to be ungracious. He’d not seen her in several days, not since she’d gone to the Imperial Ball and then to the ballet, but somehow, he sensed a disturbing change.

  She was staring at him expectantly, her hand still extended to indicate the offering of liqueurs, whisky, and vodka.

  “Ah, yes,” he said finally. “Schnapps would be nice. But don’t you want to open my gift?” With a wink, he added, “It’s from the House of Fabergé.”

  She did not respond, merely busied herself pouring their drinks.

  “Peter Carl Fabergé himself helped pick it out for you,” he continued. “You do know about the famed goldsmith to the Imperial Court of Russia, don’t you?”

  Dani’s eyes narrowed. Oh, how she yearned to tell him just what she did know about the work of Fabergé!

  With a tight smile, she said, “Yes, I do, and you’re very kind, Cyril, but I’ve always been shy about opening presents. Can it wait till after dinner?” She knew by then she would probably throw it in his face, so why go through the charade of pretending to be appreciative now?

  Disappointed, he said he supposed that would be all right, then took the small glass of schnapps she offered, downed it in one, burning gulp.

  Dani poured a brandy for herself, then indicated they should take a seat in the parlor.

  Trying to dissipate the strange, tense mood that had somehow descended, Cyril mustered enthusiasm as he urged, “Tell me about your visit to the Winter Palace, and I’d also like to hear how you enjoyed the ballet.”

  She was only too glad to oblige, relating every delightful detail.

  Cyril pretended to be captivated, but all the while he was thinking about how truly lovely and desirable she was, how his arms ached to hold her, his lips burned to kiss her…

  “Cyril, are you listening?” Dani asked, annoyed.

  He nodded his head jerkily, embarrassed. “Yes, yes, do go on, please.”

  There was a knock, and she stood, knew it was the waiter to serve the first course. “Never mind. It’s time to eat, anyway.”

  Doggedly, he followed her into the dining alcove, noted with interest that it adjoined the bedroom. That would make it convenient should he be fortunate enough later to make her desire match his.

  Dani dawdled with her soup while Cyril ate his quickly, wanting to have dinner finished as quickly as possible to dispense with the hovering servant. “Don’t you like it?” He indicated her nearly full bowl.

  “I don’t eat as fast as you do, Cyril,” she replied tightly.

  He blanched but said nothing, merely waited until she finished.

  She was equally as slow with the other courses, hardly touching her food. Finally, when he had a second cup of coffee waiting for her to finish her entrée, he could not resist asking, “Is something wrong, my dear? Aren’t you enjoying your meal?”

  She raised an eyebrow, looked at him as though he’d gone daft, snapped, “Whatever are you talking about? Just because I don’t gulp my food down like you do doesn’t mean anything is wrong.”

  Cyril had had enough of her foul disposition. He met her fiery stare and demanded, “All right, Dani. Would you mind telling me why you invited me here tonight if you can’t be civil? You’ve been in a bad mood all evening. I brought you an expensive gift, and you don’t even show me the courtesy of opening it. Then you bite my head off every few minutes. If I’ve done something to offend you, tell me, so I can try to make amends. If I haven’t, then please stop being so uncivil.”

  Dani struggled to keep from exploding. Oh, the nerve of him—looking so smug, so sanctimonious. No matter that he had stolen from her or that he’d attempted to ruin Drake’s chances of restoring honor to his family name in order to selfishly gain fame for himself. No matter that he nearly ended her relationship with a man she might love. Oh, no, Cyril thought he’d done nothing wrong, and his only concern for the moment was why she was treating him so coolly.

  When Dani did not speak, Cyril began to feel uncomfortable. Icy fingers of apprehension had begun to dance along his spine. She was, he worriedly observed, staring at him with loathing. Why? What had he done? Was there some way she could have found out about his having taken the painting? No. There had to be another reason for her strange behavior—but what?

  “Would you like me to leave?” he asked stiffly.

  Dani silently acknowledged she would like that very much but could not take a chance on him discovering Drake in his apartment. Once the painting was found and in her possession, he couldn’t do anything. Until then, he could accuse Drake of burglarizing. They couldn’t risk that.

  Finally, she bit out an apology. “I’m sorry. I must be tired. Shall we have dessert served in the parlor?”

  Cyril was at once the epitome of concern. He nearly knocked over his chair in his haste to help her with hers. “Of course, of course. Let’s make ourselves comfortable in front of the fire.”

  His gaze fell on the foil-wrapped box, and he quickly retrieved it and thrust it into her lap as she sat down on the divan before the crackling fire. “Open this, please,” he urged, sitting close beside her.

  She moved away, hedged. “I told you, Cyril, you didn’t have to buy me a gift. I think it best you returned it.’’

  “No. You have to see it, at least. Fabergé would be quite disappointed if he thought you weren’t impressed enough with his reputation that you’d not want to at least see his creation.”

  Anything to pass the time! Dani gritted her teeth and ripped off the ribbon and paper with almost vengeance. But, lifting the lid of the tiny box, she could not help gasping at the sight of the exquisite brooch. “Cyril, it’s lovely,” she cried, holding it up to the light, fascinated by the way the tiny stones danced in the fire’s glow.

  But the fascination was short-lived.

  Replacing the brooch in the box, she held it out to him. “I can’t accept your gift.”

  Cyril blinked, disappointed and confused. “But why not?”

  “It isn’t proper.”

  “Isn’t proper?” he echoed, laughing. “Why, my dear, what’s wrong with a gift between friends?”

  “People might think it precedes a more serious announcement.”

  He moved closer, slipped his arm around her shoulders, and huskily declared, “I hope so. I want our relationship to grow, Dani. I want to be more than your friend. Surely you know that by now.”

  He saw the ominous flash in her eyes, felt the way she stiffened at his touch, yet felt compelled to plunge ahead and declare his feelings. “I love you, Dani, and I think you love me too. Why else would you have come on this trip? You wanted us to be together, to get to know each other better…”

  Dani felt nauseous. Once, she might have entertained thoughts of romance with Cyril, albeit frivolous, for he was handsome, charming, good company. But since the discovery that he was a conniving sneak thief, she regarded him only with contempt, could hardly bear his company.

  He tried to kiss her, clasping her face with his hands as she attempted to twist away. “Dani, please, please,” he begged, the heat of his desire making his breath ragged, his voice hoarse. “I only want to make you happy because I love you…I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. You must’ve known, and you must love me too—”

  “I don’t love you!” With one mighty thrust, Dani tore from his arms and leaped to her feet to stare down at him, bosom heaving, as she gasped with incredulity. Oh, the arrogance! Did he really think she was so vulnerable? So easily manipulated?

  Cyril, astonished by her reaction, also stood. Anger and humiliation began to wash over him as he realized that she could reject him so completely and intensely. “Then why did you invite me here tonight?” he demanded coldly. “I don’t appreciate being used, Dani, I—”

  “You dare to accuse me of using you?” she cried, about to explode, then suddenly she commanded herself to be silent. It was not time! There had been no signal from Drake that his mission w
as successfully completed.

  Cyril ran agitated fingers through his hair, lifted his chin slightly, attempting to maintain dignity as he tersely suggested, “Perhaps I’d best leave and return when you’re not in such a foul mood. Whatever’s bothering you, Dani, it’s not by my hand. I’ve never been anything but kind to you.” He snatched up the jewel box; if she continued to regard him with apparent contempt, he certainly wasn’t about to waste an expensive gift on her.

  He started for the door.

  Dani’s teeth ground together and her fists clenched as she watched him prepare to leave. She knew she could not allow it. Even if it meant enduring his kisses, she had to keep him there until she received word from Drake. Oh, damn Colt, she fumed silently, why couldn’t he have been here tonight?

  “Cyril, wait—”

  He turned, suppressing a smile at the look of desolation on her lovely face. “Have you thought of something else you can say to hurt me?”

  ‘‘Cyril, I—’’

  There was a knock on the door.

  Relieved, Dani brushed by him quickly, spared, for the moment, from being ingratiating. “That’s probably our after-dinner cordials. We’ll have one last drink and maybe I’ll feel better…” Her voice trailed off as she flung the door open to find the waiter standing there looking quite confused.

  He was holding a silver tray on which rested a large cream pie. He flashed an apologetic smile, shrugged helplessly. “I realize you’ve already been served the dessert you ordered, mademoiselle, but a gentleman delivered this to the kitchen and was most emphatic that it be served to you at once. He also said that you’d understand it was of special significance for a very special occasion.”

  The warmth of happy realization spread through Dani like a great cascading wave. “Merci!” she said, laughing, unable to resist a curtsy as she took the tray.

  She set it down on a nearby table, kept her back turned to Cyril, who was watching in stony silence.

  She heard the waiter close the door behind him.

  “More dessert?” Cyril asked lightly, thinking perhaps sweetness might help her mood.

  Dani grasped the pie and turned to face him.

  He heard her declare him a lying, loathesome son of a bitch…just before the cream splattered in his face.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  In his hotel suite, Drake and Dani sat opposite each other, the painting on a table between them.

  Drake sighed, shook his head, ran his fingertips through his hair in frustration. “I don’t see it. I can’t find a single clue to tell me one damn thing. As far as I can tell, it’s nothing but a crude drawing of the palace, and the egg could be hidden anywhere inside, and there are over a hundred rooms! I wouldn’t know where to start looking if permission was granted to search!”

  Dani shared his gloom but was curious to know why the revolutionaries chose the palace as a hiding place. “Isn’t it well guarded?”

  “Oh, yes.” Drake then described the way he remembered security during his many visits. “There’s a permanent garrison of five thousand infantrymen, carefully selected out of all the regiments of the Imperial Guard, and then there are guard detachments at the gates and foot patrols in the park, as well as sentries stationed inside in the vestibules, staircases, corridors, kitchens, and even in the cellars. They’ve even got plainclothes guards just to keep an eye on the people that work there, and they probably number well into the hundreds—servants, workmen, tradesmen.”

  “So it wouldn’t have been easy to have gotten in there to hide anything,” she mused, wondering if it was all a hoax.

  He sensed her thoughts. “It would’ve been difficult, true, but from all I’ve heard about Zigmont Koryatovich, I’m not surprised he was able to do it. He loved to make the Czar, and his armies, look foolish. For him to have hidden the Fabergé egg inside the palace was a slap in the Czar’s face. And there was never any doubt that’s where he hid it. He and my mother were captured near the palace.

  “In fact,” he continued, “they say Koryatovich went to his death bragging about it. That’s how the legend of the painting began. On the morning he was executed, he told one of his jailers that when my mother escaped, she took with her the one clue to where the Fabergé egg was hidden. The jailer got word to the Czar who, in turn, told his son Nicholas, and he, because of our past friendship, told me. After that, it was hushed up to keep would-be fortune hunters from trying to sneak inside the palace to look for it.”

  Dam’s heart went out to him, for she knew the agony of being so near…yet so far. Ten years he’d searched for the painting, and now he had it…but could not find a single clue.

  She was struck by another thought. “Did Koryatovich actually admit your mother escaped with a painting that contained the clue to where the egg was hidden? Maybe she actually took something else.”

  He shook his head. “No. The guards had let Koryatovich have the art supplies he asked for, feeling sorry for him, I suppose, because he was scheduled to die. I guess they saw no harm in a doomed man painting a few pictures to while away what was left of his life.”

  Dani looked pensive a moment. “I’m going to pay Monsieur Arpel one final visit,” she then announced.

  Drake raised an eyebrow. “Why? What business do you have with him?”

  “He still has something that belongs to me, and I intend to have it.”

  Drake glanced at the canvas and nodded. “Ah, yes, the frame. I found the canvas under the bed but there was no sign of the frame.”

  Dani stood, gathered her things, and moved toward the door with Drake following. “To be perfectly honest, I valued the frame more than the painting, because it was so unusual.”

  Drake had to admit he’d not paid any attention to it. “I was always too busy concentrating on the painting whenever I had the chance.”

  With a parting kiss, Dani went her way. The night was clear, stars twinkling like ice crystals in a sky of black frost. The world around her glittered white, a million crystal diamonds studding the landscape. The wind was soft, as caressing as a baby’s breath, and she clutched her ermine wrap tighter as she moved toward the carriage that would take her to Cyril’s shop.

  A lamp burned above the door but all was silent. Dani knocked with determination. It was not that the frame was valuable; she merely wanted what was rightfully hers. Cyril had lied, stolen, manipulated. He should be grateful Drake was so concerned with unraveling the mystery that he hadn’t sought revenge, for Cyril was no match for the Russian’s strength and fury.

  She was about to knock once more when Cyril opened the door to look at her in surprise. “Dani!” He almost choked on her name, then leaned out to nervously glance left and right, making sure she was alone before he gestured her inside.

  Once they were in the foyer, he asked hesitantly, “What are you doing here? I thought you never wanted to see me again?”

  “I don’t,” she curtly confirmed. “Just give me the rest of what you stole from me, and I’ll be on my way.”

  His expression was blank. He shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I want the frame,” she snapped.

  He laughed softly, incredulously. “That unrefined thing? Whatever for?” He put a cajoling hand on her shoulder. “Come on in, my dear, and let’s talk about this. I know you’re angry, but if you’ll just let me explain everything, you’ll see it’s just a harmless situation, something to laugh about, not get upset over, and—”

  “Cyril, don’t patronize me!” she cried, slapping his hand from her shoulder and glaring up at him venomously. “Just give me my property so I can get out of here. I find you so despicable it makes me nauseous to even breathe the same air as you!”

  He lifted his chin as though slapped. “All right then,” he curtly told her. “I’ll get your worthless frame to go with your worthless painting, and then you can run to your worthless lover!”

  He left her standing in the foyer, returning moments
later with the frame. He thrust it at her. “Here. Take it and go. If you can’t be open-minded about this thing and see it for just a harmless, amusing situation, then it’s best we don’t try to be friends any longer.”

  She tried to feel pity for him, could not. “Cyril, we were never really friends. You don’t manipulate your friends!”

  She left him staring after her as she hurried out to the waiting carriage.

  Dani did not notice the man standing in the shadows across the street…just as she’d not seen him following her constantly since the night of the Imperial Ball. She was too anxious to be on her way, for she’d decided to use the retrieved frame as an excuse to see Drake once more that evening.

  Drake sipped a brandy as he continued to scrutinize the painting. Lord, he thought, Zigmont Koryatovich might have been many things, but one thing he was not was an artist. A child might have accomplished the same replica with less effort.

  But what was the blasted key?

  God, to be so close, to actually have the damn thing in his hands after all these years, when it’d been his only glimmer of hope that he could restore his father’s honor so the wretched soul could rest in peace…and then not to be able to decipher any meaning.

  It was painfully frustrating.

  And it didn’t help matters that he now had another reason to resolve what had become a life’s quest.

  Dani Coltrane.

  He had to solve the mystery; Dani deserved more than a man banned from the Imperial Court, a man whose family honor had been stripped away.

  A sound at the door brought him out of his reverie. He opened the door, then blinked at the sight of Jade standing there, looking cold and miserable, green eyes misted with sadness.

  She stumbled into his arms with a broken sob. He pushed the door shut, then held her close. “Jade, darling, what’s wrong? What’s happened? Has Colt done something to hurt you?’ His voice had an apprehensive edge.