Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (13 page)

She turned away and nervously paced the stage as he drew
back into the shadows. She could hear his footsteps echoing
on the marble steps as he left the box. Somehow she knew he
had not finished saying what he had started. Nor was he leav
ing; he was on his way to the stage. To her.

She tightened her lips across her teeth, wishing he would go
away. Compliments usually filled her with glowing warmth,
but the Prince's words of praise had had the opposite effect. Surely he had ulterior motives, was leading up to something.
But what? And why did he make her feel awkward, like a
blushing schoolgirl?

She took a series of deep breaths to steady her nerves and
waited until he leapt onstage and towered prepossessingly
over her. She flinched as he reached out without warning, held
her chin in his hand, and raised her face to his. Her eyes shone
richly in the spotlights. 'You have the most incredible emerald
eyes,' he murmured slowly. 'It is my sincere wish that you
remain in St. Petersburg for the entire season.'

Flustered, she stepped back and looked down at the script
in her hands. She was gripping it so tightly that her knuckles
were white. 'Your Highness.' Her voice was so thick she had
to clear her throat before continuing. 'Your Highness, we are but a humble theatre troupe touring the provinces and cities.
We go wherever there is an opportunity to perform. The
morning after the Princess's party, we will have to depart.'

'For where?' His look was keen with real interest, but his smile mocked. 'Parts known. Or unknown?'

She dimpled at the effort of summoning a suitable reply.
'Wherever work beckons.'

'It beckons here,' said the Prince. 'You see, you really have
no choice. I demand that you remain here.'

A sudden chill, caused in part by his temerity, in part by
his self-assurance, rippled up and down her spine like fingers
strumming the width of a harp. Much as she tried to convey
force, her voice trembled as she spoke. 'Your Highness, I'm
afraid I must continue rehearsing to be prepared for tomor
row's performance. Otherwise—'

'I will leave in a moment,' he said softly. 'In the meantime,
I beg you to hear me out. I do not wish to boast, but the
Princess and I wield considerable influence in this city. I am
certain we can arrange for your troupe to perform here for the
entire season. There are many private theatres in the various
palaces, quite a few public theatres begging for use, and a
shortage of entertainers. Such an opportunity should be a god
send for what you call a humble troupe searching for work.
Especially since I personally guarantee to pay for every empty
seat.' He paused. 'For the entire season, I might add.'

She raised her head and met his gaze. 'With all due respect, your Highness wouldn't, by any chance, be making advances
to me? For if you are, I'm afraid I must warn you ahead of
time. It is a waste of your time as well as mine.'

A fire flared within his eyes, then died as quickly as it had
appeared. 'You are an actress.'

'And the mother of the child you saw me carrying.'

'And a widow.'

'Widows,' she said firmly, 'are not necessarily loose
women.'

'Perhaps not.' He was smiling directly at her. 'But a star?'
he asked, his voice a whisper. 'I have it within my power to
make you the toast of St. Petersburg. You can have all Russian
society worshipping at your feet.'

She stared at him, her heart beating wildly. There was some
thing predatory, almost satanic, about the hypnotic glint of
his eyes and the amused self-assurance of his manner. How
tempting it was to listen to his soft-spoken promises. Yet how
angry they made her also. How dared he think she could be
so easily swayed!

Now her eyes flashed. 'Your Highness,' she said unsteadily,
'I think enough has been said. I don't think I would care for
the way'—she swallowed the lump blocking her throat—'the
way I would have to repay you for the favours of which you
speak.' She lowered her lashes and sucked on her lower lip.
'Now I think I had best continue to rehearse.'

'Ah, but I do admire spirit. So, you are under the impression
that I am trying to buy you.' His face was so close to hers that
she could feel the warmth of his breath.

'Are you?' Despite her defiant voice, she rather enjoyed
this badinage.

'What do you think?'

She looked shaken. 'I think,' she murmured, 'that this con
versation has gone far enough.'

He smiled. Not unpleasantly. 'But you have no idea what I
was about to propose.'

'I think that is obvious,' she countered crisply, her face
suddenly flaming red.

He was silent for a moment. 'So you cannot be bought for
the sake of your troupe. Very well. However, long experience
tells me that everyone has a price. Only the currency changes from one person to the next.' He shook his head again. 'Those
eyes
...
so expressive
...
so haunting
...
as though they
have seen much suffering. You attract me, that is no secret.'
He paused. 'And I intend to have you.'

Her voice was hushed. 'I'm sorry, your Highness, but I'm
not on the auction block.'

'Not for your troupe perhaps. But these?' He reached into
his jacket and took out a long, slim velvet case. He held it out
to her.

She shook her head and instinctively drew back, as from a
snake.

'You have not looked inside,' he said. 'Perhaps the contents
will change your mind. There is much more from where
these'—he held up the case—'came.'

'No,' she said quickly, adding quietly but firmly, 'no, thank
you.'

'You owe it to yourself, and to me, to look at least.'

Sighing, she took the case and opened it slowly. Then she
let out a gasp. The necklace was a length of huge square-cut
stones the colour of her eyes surrounded by icelike baguettes.
Shakily she snapped the case shut and thrust it at him. 'I don't
want it!' she hissed, turning away.

Shrugging, he slipped the case back into his pocket. 'That is today,' he said equably. 'Perhaps in time you will change
your mind.' He smiled tightly.

'I . . . I'm afraid I won't. Change my mind.'

He nodded. 'I see that neither jewels nor a season of book
ings can sway you,' he said. 'I was mistaken. You must forgive
me. You are far too beautiful and talented—and independent—to be bought so easily. You are not interested in
materialistic gain.'

She turned to him, her eyes unwavering. 'Your Highness,
only two things matter to me,' she said with soft frankness.
'My career, at which I must work and achieve with my own
God-given talent, and my daughter, whom I want to make
proud of me. Since my husband's death three years ago, I have
had no other ambitions.'

He was staring raptly at her.

She turned away and took a few steps across the stage.

His voice was the merest whisper, but it carried the force of
a physical blow. 'Then the child is not your husband's,' he said
matter-of-factly.

She whirled on him, her face suddenly ashen.

'The child is too young.' His deceptively lazy lapis lazuli
eyes deepened to twin pools of dark indigo. 'I should have
known. There is someone else.'

A stab of fear clutched her insides, twisting her stomach
into a tight knot.

'Indeed, it seems you were right.' His voice was cool and
dignified. 'It
is
time you continued rehearsing your lines.' He
smiled. 'You are an actress, and a fine one at that. I expect a
remarkable performance tomorrow.'

'Yes, your Highness.' She curtsied formally, careful to avoid
his gaze. 'I trust I will not disappoint you.'

'You have already disappointed me,' he said softly. 'But I
am the Prince Vaslav Danilov. A very rich, very powerful,
and very determined man. You will find I do not generally
take no for an answer.'

Her cheeks stung hotly, as though she had been slapped.

He stood poised at the edge of the stage for a moment, as
if pausing between lines to gauge his invisible audience. 'And
in the end, no matter what it takes, I always get what I want.'

She looked up sharply then, but he was a mere fleeting
shadow. Then she heard footsteps echoing, the sound of a
door closing, and, finally, silence. She knew she was alone in
the theatre.

She shuddered and took a deep breath. She could not remember ever having felt quite so frightened of anyone in
her entire life.

Outside in the hallway, Count Kokovtsov slipped silently out
of a doorway and caught up with the Prince. The dour Count had to hurry to keep pace with his cousin. Overhead, the cold glitter of chandeliers of fruit-shaped rock crystal flashed and
seemed to fly past with the speed of storm clouds; underfoot, the richly inlaid marqueterie seemed to rush toward them,
gleaming mirrorlike and crackling with every step. The Prince
did not look at his cousin. 'So you heard it all?' he asked
grimly, his eyes focused straight ahead.

The Count's face assumed a hurt expression. 'You know me
better than to accuse me of eavesdropping, Vaslav,' he said
innocently. 'What need have I to do that?'

'Sometimes I wonder. And the answers I come up with,
cousin dear, are not very pleasant.'

A vein in Count Kokovtsov's tall, domed forehead twitched
with anger. 'I had just arrived when you came rushing out,'
he said. 'Even had I wanted to, which I certainly did not, there
would hardly have been the time to overhear anything.' He sniffed disdainfully, 'Besides, you yourself instructed me to
thoroughly search the theatre troupe's belongings. It was my understanding that you wished to be informed immediately if
I found anything unusual.'