Adele Ashworth (16 page)

Natalie stood very close to him as he handed their invitation to the footman. Then he placed his palm on her back and guided her into the foyer.

The inside was typical of design, and he had studied it well. The ground floor consisted of a morning room to the immediate right, followed by a music room and other various rooms for entertaining, all leading toward the kitchen, and finally the servants’ quarters and their staircase to the second floor in the back of the house. To the left was the grand ballroom where they would spend most of the evening, behind which was the ladies’ withdrawing room, then the smoking room and dining room, in that order. Straight ahead loomed the wide staircase of dark oak leading to the second floor—the family sleeping quarters to the right, various guest rooms to the left, followed by the family library and finally the count’s study at the end of the hallway.

Six doors down to the left, in the southwest corner, with the greatest view of the evening sun and picturesque Mediterranean Sea, the emeralds contained in a relatively easy-access safe behind a small, romantically frivolous Fragonard oil above the mantel. The evening was starting, and Jonathan relaxed as he considered the plan, a very good one indeed. This was what he did, and did best, and in only hours the priceless emeralds that once belonged to the empress of Austria would be back on British soil where they belonged. That aside, Natalie was soon to encounter the greatest shock of her life. Yes, indeed, it would be a night to remember.

Grasping her elbow, he ushered her toward the ballroom, standing alert to the atmosphere and the mood of other guests as he followed them to the receiving line. Already her gaze darted from one man to the next, calculating, estimating age, bearing, description, and how each one matched the Black Knight and rumors of his appearance. Jonathan watched her, feeling power coupled with mischief and an odd sense of enjoyment at her frustration in waiting.

Moments later, as they neared the count and his bride of three years, Jonathan leaned toward her and broke the silence between them. “Here we go, my darling wife,” he whispered in her ear. He felt her stiffen, although whether from the implication of his words or from the knowledge that the game was beginning, he wasn’t sure. Spontaneously he rubbed his thumb along her elbow in a measure of comfort.

“Monsieur et Madame Drake,” came the presentation from the man to the count’s right. “The Englishman,” he mumbled as an afterthought, though purposely forgetting to add, “who buys properties,” which would have been indelicate during an introduction but was undoubtedly understood by all parties.

“Monsieur Drake,” the count boomed in thickly accented English. “How nice of you to join our celebration for my daughter Annette-Elise. I am hoping we will be able to talk at length of your travels and stay in our country. Madame DuMais holds you in the highest regard.”

Jonathan swiftly took in the count’s appearance. Average in height, balding on top as thick, coarse hair receded from his expansive forehead in the most unusual color—not quite brown, not quite gray, yet not exactly a salt-and-pepper mixture of the two. His jaw, probably square and hard in youth, was now fleshy, and he attempted to hide this with long, full side whiskers. His cheeks were ruddy and nose was pink, as if he had imbibed a good deal of wine. His mouth, wide and drawing and somehow unbefitting his face, was soft and full of humor, quite unlike the rest of his bearing, especially his eyes. They were shrouded by dark, heavy brows, the clear circles striking and nearly black in color, sly and deep set, exuding intelligence.

The man was dense of build though not quite fat, perceptive of mind, overindulged in life’s pleasures, but was probably pleasing to the gentle sex and not unattractive for his middle years. Women would no doubt find him so, regardless of his physical assets, if this one great home was any indication of his wealth. Tonight he wore a perfectly tailored dark-blue tailcoat of superfine over a blue-and-white silk waistcoat, dark trousers, and a black cravat over pointed collar. Quite fitting for the occasion, albeit conservative, but then his political ties would suggest that.

Jonathan smiled and bowed ever so slightly, though his eyes, lit with charm, never left the Frenchman’s. “Comte d’Arles. Thank you for your gracious invitation. It would be my pleasure to spend time in discussion this evening.”

“I am looking forward to it,” he replied readily. Turning, he added with pride, “My wife, the countess of Arles.”

Jonathan’s gaze shifted to the man’s immediate left where his wife, Claudine, stood rigid and grossly thin in a gown of pale pink taffeta covered with large, white bows that did nothing but make her look older than her twenty-six years and her bronzed coloring unnaturally orange. She was a pretty woman but far from feminine, her blond hair now piled on her head, faded from hours in bright sunshine which also undoubtedly accounted for the deep grooves already appearing on her face. Her eyes were hazel and fiercely penetrating, though somewhat lacking in wit and trust, and she stared at him with lips pulled into a thin, pink line.

With his most disarming smile he grasped her gloved fingers lightly and brought them to his lips. “I am enchanted, madam.”

“Monsieur Drake,” she said formally.

Already the count had shifted his gaze to Natalie with obvious appreciation, and Jonathan took the cue. “May I present to you both my wife.”

“My dear lady,” the count addressed her smoothly, his eyes grazing her throat and bosom in an almost indecent manner. “How lovely. Your husband is a very fortunate man, if I may be so bold. Welcome to France and my home.”

The man not only took occasional mistresses but was also an open flirt, Jonathan mused, which his wife obviously did not appreciate by the look of her ever-narrowing lips as she stared at Natalie with hard assessment. Madeleine had left that out of the equation, but it could be useful. He watched in amusement as Natalie recognized it, too, and came alive with radiance.

“I am most charmed, sir,” she replied through a gracious smile, curtseying gently. “My husband and I are delighted and honored to be a part of this festive occasion.”

“Indeed, madame.” The count’s smile deepened, and he had yet to release her hand. “Perhaps we can share a dance or two later, hmm?” He glanced to Jonathan abruptly as if he’d only just recalled he was there. “With your permission, of course, Monsieur Drake.”

Jonathan nodded once. “And your lovely wife’s?”

He expected Henri or Claudine to speak, but it was Natalie who took the lead, with keen observation of what needed to be said at the moment. “And what a beautiful home you have, Madame Lemire. You have such grand taste.”

“Thank you,” Claudine replied tightly.

Natalie carried on, glancing around the entryway and into the ballroom. “It’s marvelously decorated, but I knew it would be the minute we stepped through your garden, so lush and well tended.”

Claudine gave her a brittle smile. “Is your home in England rather too small for a garden, Madame Drake?”

It was a direct insult given without the intelligence for subtlety, and Jonathan wondered if it stemmed from simple jealousy or her dislike of the English as a whole.

Natalie rose to the occasion with wide-eyed innocence. “Oh, we have lovely gardens in England, of course, but not with such sweet aromas brought out by daily sunshine and warm, offshore breezes. And may I add that your steady exposure to sunshine has brought out such a healthy glow to your skin, Madame Lemire, unlike those of us who remain pale from lack of it.”

She touched her cheek, eyes narrowing with light mischievousness as she leaned toward the Frenchwoman, pretending a whisper like old friends discussing their beloved husbands in their presence. “Perhaps I’ll someday persuade my dear Jonathan to buy us a home on the shore, or maybe you can persuade him for me tonight with your good charm. How you must adore it here, as I’m sure you have for many, many years. And how I envy you!”

She was perfect and enchanting, and Jonathan swallowed a laugh.

Claudine blinked quickly, unsure if she had been complimented by a beautiful woman or completely duped by one more astute than she. Henri simply watched the exchange with half an ear, implying that talk between ladies, whatever the topic, was unimportant, even bordering on the silly. Something that could also, if needed, be useful.

“We’re very happy here,” the Frenchwoman affirmed with growing confidence. “Tonight we are quite engaged, but perhaps you’ll visit us later in the week when you can view our home and grounds by daylight, Madame Drake.”

It was a frank dismissal, and Natalie responded accordingly. “That would be lovely, and I look forward to it.” She turned to Jonathan and grasped his arm. “But come now, darling. We’re holding up the line.”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed, nodding once to his hosts.

From there they moved down the line, introducing themselves with light conversation to relatives and other local notables. Jonathan found it of interest but not unexpected to meet several men of old nobility from as far away as Anjou and Brittany, whose families dated from long before prerevolutionary days and whose political ties paralleled those of the count, at a ball to celebrate the eighteenth birthday of his daughter. There was much going on behind the scenes, in anticipation of another revolution if Sir Guy was correct, and Jonathan was now convinced this party was a front for strategic planning. Those involved were ready to sell the emeralds. A triumph for arrogant minds that would be very short-lived. He was counting on it.

At last they wandered into the ballroom proper, already filled with people dancing and mingling, with music and laughter. Men in formal attire and top hats, and ladies in fine silks, taffeta, velvets, and lace of every color stood in small groups of deep discussion over politics and social issues, trivialities and gossip. Footmen in scarlet livery carried trays of steaming food to buffet tables, the aroma of it permeating the air along with heady perfume and the scent of a thousand burning candles. Four magnificent crystal chandeliers hung in line above their heads. Two of the four walls were adorned with enormous paintings and tapestries, the others with long, gilded windows, floor to ceiling, all lavishly decorated with drapes of red velvet, drawn back by golden ropes and tassels, golden cherubs sitting atop them as they stared down at those present with frank regard.

On the surface, a party like any at home.

In silence Jonathan guided Natalie through the crowd to a refreshment table and handed her a glass of champagne.

“You were marvelous,” he said in praise.

She eyed him carefully and took a sip. “The count is sly and somewhat charming, but she’s rude and jealous of him unnecessarily. Simpleminded and tactless.”

Jonathan smiled wryly, taking notice of the rosy hue to her cheeks, eyes shimmering from irritation. “Very observant, but perhaps she has reason,” he offered. “You outshine her beautifully from head to foot, and she knows it.”

Natalie huffed, brushing over his compliment as she began to search faces in the crowd for a resemblance to the thief. Irrationally that piqued his anger.

“And like most members of the nobility,” he added, “he’s taken mistresses, and I’m sure she’s aware of that. He probably has one now. Maybe more than one.”

Jonathan had no idea why he said that, it just seemed the perfect remark to grab her attention. It worked, too, for she quickly looked back to his face, her brows pinched in a light frown of disapproval.

“This might come as a complete surprise to you, Jonathan, but not all gentlemen of breeding have adulterous affairs. Many obviously consider it a right of good birth and take advantage of wealth and opportunity, flaunting their paramours for all to admire.” She drew a long breath and raised her chin stubbornly. “But there are others, regardless of the fact that they are few in number, who are wonderful men with keen moral judgment, rigid self-control, and sufficient love for their wives and families to remain faithful.”

He lifted his glass to his lips, curious as to how and where she acquired this information, but refusing to ask because that was exactly what she wanted. Instead he lowered his voice and returned candidly, “You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Her cheeks warmed a deeper shade of pink, but she stared at him levelly, ignoring the sweetheart comment either by choice or because she was already fuming. He hoped it was the latter.

“Perhaps it’s something you should take note of, Jonathan,” she advised a bit derisively. “How positively tragic it would be for me to learn that your future wife stabbed you through the heart with the count’s mighty sword due to your lack of self-containment. Knowing your particular reputation, I suggest you reconsider buying it.” She grinned in speculation. “Come to think of it, if you marry a feisty, jealous lady, she’ll have a wide range of weapons to choose from already hanging on your study wall. If I were you I’d sell them all.”

Jonathan felt the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, to hold her tightly and relish the feel of her breasts against his chest, to run his fingers through her hair, and to hell with everyone present. He restrained himself, however, by taking another large swallow of champagne, his gaze never wavering.

“I’m delighted to hear how much you care for my well-being, Natalie. But considering how much I cherish my existence, as well as my extensive and priceless collection of weapons, I think I’d rather give up my pursuit of the ladies. Particularly,” he added in a whisper, leaning close so only she could hear, “if I marry someone as beautiful and challenging as you, my sweet. You would undoubtedly keep me in fear of my life should I break my vows.”

She stared at him, eyes large, measured alarm gracing her features as she considered a binding, permanent union between them, probably for the first time.

“But then again I shouldn’t worry,” he continued offhandedly, raising his free palm to cup her chin, tracing her jaw with his thumb. “You’d have me so exhausted in the marriage bed I would never have energy enough to go elsewhere for a pleasure that couldn’t possibly compare to what I get from you anyway.”