Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5 (44 page)

Pride ringing in his voice, he huskily declared, “The People’s Will faction are not the only rifles who have eyes in high places. We have known for some time that Drakar was back in Russia, so we were sure all we had to do was wait, and sooner or later he would make his move, and when he did, the terrorist faction would be right behind him. They watched him; we watched them.”

He went on to say that he had heard how Vordan had decreed a decade ago that he would never stop searching for the Fabergé egg, would not rest until it was in the possession of the People’s Will, as his comrades thought Zigmont Koryatovich had wanted. “What Vordan refused to believe, however,” he told her in a voice filled with remorse, “is that in the end, it was not the intention of Zigmont that the terrorist faction have possession of the egg, because although there might have been others around him he could’ve confided in, he chose to go to his grave without divulging the secret to any of them.

“I was to have met Annine Mikhailov in Paris, where she was to give me the painting so I could learn the secret and ultimately find the egg, but I was unfortunately detained in prison for a few months, and when I got out and made my way to Paris, she was dead and there was no trace of the painting…until you found it in Monaco, as I’ve heard.”

Dani turned to stare at him incredulously in the white night, drank in the sight of him, determined to remember every detail of his face—warm brown eyes; clear skin; a neatly trimmed mustache; white, even teeth. He was truly handsome, despite his scruffy clothes and demeanor.

“You’re one of them, a revolutionary,” she pointed out tersely. “You also want the egg, so why are you helping me? Are you planning to hold both me and Drakar as hostages until Cyril Arpel turns it over to you as ransom for us? He won’t. He—”

Something landed in her lap.

It was the pouch Drake had found inside the newel post…and the precious Fabergé egg!

“This should rest your fears. I saw a hysterical little man sneaking out of the palace, and I followed him. All I had to do was snarl at him”—he paused to laugh, remembering—“and he practically threw that at me, fell to his knees begging me to let him go. The last I saw of him, he was running through the park crying like a baby.”

She could see the outline of the rear of the Alexandrovsky Palace ahead. Gingerly closing her hands around the pouch, she maneuvered to stare at him once more. “Why?” she asked in wonder. “Why are you doing this?”

Abruptly, he stopped pushing the sled, came around to draw her to her feet. “I will take you no farther. By now, my men have probably taken care of Drakar, and he’s waiting for you…and the egg. Go now. We’ll be nearby to ensure your safe return to Saint Petersburg, though I doubt it will be necessary.”

Dani stubbornly shook her head. “No. I’m not leaving here until you tell me who you are and why you are doing this.” She dared to reach up and caress his cheek with her fingertips in a gesture of gratitude. “You may well have saved my life. I have to know whom to thank.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then, finally, he nodded. “Very well. Then, you can make sure the Czar and all of Russia know it is a tribute to Zigmont that the egg is returned to prove the innocence of Drakar’s father, and also a tribute to his mother, whom I loved like a sister…and respected as a comrade. She would never have wanted her son to suffer because of anything she did.

“Neither of them were truly bad,” he rushed to emphasize, a slight tremor to his voice hinting of the vast emotion he was experiencing to discuss something so painful. “Remember this—Zigmont Koryatovich was first a member of the Land and Freedom Party, a revolutionary, yes, but a murderer, no, and it was only through the influence of maniacs like Vordan that he became caught up in a web of violence.

“But in the end,” he rushed on, eyes shining and moist, “he’d changed his philosophies. I know this to be true.”

He stepped away from her, suddenly gruff as he commanded, “Now go. Drakar awaits. It is over. Everyone can rest in peace.”

He turned and started walking away, but she ran after him, begging, “Please. I must know your name.”

He sighed, shoulders slumped, did not turn to face her. “My name is Serge…Serge Koryatovich. Zigmont was my brother.”

She watched him disappear, a white shadow in the night, and then he was gone, and she blinked against the tears that trickled forth to freeze upon her cheeks as she made her way back to the palace.

Drakar was waiting, and when he saw her, he ran to her and lifted her in his arms and swung her around and around before crushing her against him. “I dared to believe they told me the truth,” he told her. “I waited here, as they said I should, and dear God, it’s true. You’re here.”

She pulled from his arms to hand him the pouch, and when he gasped, started to ask questions, she pressed her fingertips against his lips and said, “No. Not now. We have many, many tomorrows to talk about yesterday. For now, all I want to talk about is how much I love you…”

He groaned. “Oh, God, I love you, too, Dani.”

It was the beginning of a new life together…a life that would be committed not to regret over past transgressions or mistakes…but a future devoted to…love and splendor.

About the Author

Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.

Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.

Hagan’s exciting eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.

Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.

But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.

Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan

Now Available:

The Coltrane Saga

Love and War

The Raging Hearts

Love and Glory

Love and Fury

Love and Splendor

Coming Soon:

Love and Dreams

Love and Honor

Love and Triumph

The bestselling Coltrane saga continues with Travis and Kitty’s son, Colt.

Love and Fury

© 2012 Patricia Hagan

The Coltrane Saga, Book 4

Colt’s long-lost half-sister Dani was raised somewhere in Europe, and he hasn’t seen her in fourteen years. But now he has to find her in order to learn what she plans to do with her share of the family fortune. Too bad the evil and conniving Gavin Mason has found someone to impersonate Dani so he can get his hands on the money.

Briana de Paul is willing to go along with the ruse because she needs help for her ailing brother. But it is forbidden love at first sight between Colt and Briana, as he struggles to keep his desire under control. However, one moon-swept night, they yield to their passion, and Briana is forced to admit how she tricked him into believing they were kin.

On a quest to find the real Dani before Mason can, Colt and Briana are swept from the rugged deserts of Nevada to forbidden Parisian nights, from the wintry Alps to magnificent Monaco mansions, where they suffer untold danger and incredible intrigue as they fight for a love that no man can destroy.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Love and Fury:

Silver Butte, Nevada

July, 1889

Colt sat behind the large mahogany desk, gazing balefully at all the papers in front of him. His mother had always taken care of Coltrane business matters. His father hated what he called “inside chores”. Colt concurred. He’d much rather have been outdoors, doing nearly anything else.

He reached for the bottle of brandy and poured another glass, reminding himself that these chores were his now—along with every other Coltrane responsibility, now that his parents had left for France.

He sipped the brandy and looked around the study. The rest of the two-story house reflected his mother’s taste, but the study was strictly his father’s. It was filled with comfortable sofas and chairs, plain draperies at the long windows, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with Travis’s war memorabilia. A stone fireplace ran the entire length of one wall.

There were trophies mounted here and there, souvenirs of many hunting trips. Colt’s mother had hated those, he recalled. She said every time she walked into the study she felt the sad, forlorn eyes of the deer looking directly at her for sympathy.

He leaned back in the soft leather chair and propped his booted feet on the desk. He’d spent a long day riding the range that bordered the Carson River. He was tired, and after eating the dinner the Mexican cook had prepared for him, would have liked nothing better than to go to bed, but the blasted paperwork awaited him. He’d been putting it off for as long as possible, but it wouldn’t go away.

Colt thought about the house, not for the first time. What in the world was he going to do with a fourteen-room mansion? It was a far cry from the two-room cabin they’d lived in when he was a child. There was a sweeping front porch, and there were pillars and marble steps. On the first floor there was, besides the study, a grand entrance foyer, a large formal dining room, and a smaller dining room for family gatherings. There were two parlors as well, a formal one and a family one, each with an ornate fireplace. Also on the first floor was a small room for Kitty to do her sewing and studying. She was forever reading about the latest medical developments.

The kitchen was at the rear of the house, connected by a long, enclosed porch, where Kitty lovingly tended her many flowers and plants. Guiltily, Colt reminded himself yet again to water them all.

Upstairs, his parents had large, adjoining bedrooms, each with its private dressing room. They had told him he could move into either one, now that he had the house to himself, but he preferred the room he’d always had, at the far end of the hallway. Between his room and his parents’ rooms were three guest rooms. One, of course, was meant for Dani. She had lived there only for a couple of years.

Dani.

He sighed. Colt wasn’t sure how he felt about the half sister he hadn’t seen in thirteen years. True, they’d had that vicious fight the day she left, but they’d been children, and he held no grudge there. What he did resent was that Dani had been able to turn her back on their father. In all the years of her estrangement, there hadn’t even been a letter from her.

Colt thought about the conversation he’d had with his father the night before his parents left for France, when Travis went over the, papers the family lawyer had prepared, documents that divided the silver mine and the ranch equally between Colt and Dani. Travis and Kitty had enough money to live on comfortably for the rest of their lives without the mine or the ranch.

Colt figured it was his father’s property, to do with as he pleased. If he wanted to give half of it to a daughter who didn’t give a damn about him, well, Colt just kept his mouth shut. Still, he couldn’t help wondering how long it would be before Dani showed up to claim her share…while he Colt, did all the work.

The silver mine was not worth what it had once been due, in part, to the federal government’s limiting the role of silver in the monetary system in recent years. As silver prices declined, a lot of mines had closed down. Bustling mine towns became ghost towns. Silver Butte, once the biggest mining camp in the West, had simmered down and was now a respectable town like many others.

What had kept the Coltrane family from suffering, and also made them very rich, was Travis’s wisdom in not depending solely on his silver mine for income. Travis threw himself into cattle raising, building up a large herd, and he’d been very successful despite unpredictable beef prices, high railroad rates, and several severe winters.

All of that had been dropped in Colt’s lap. Oh, sure, he knew what to do. He’d worked the ranch and mine since he was old enough to hold a rope or a pickax. But he’d never expected to run it all, far from it. In fact, he’d been planning to hit the trail, travel the country for a few years, try to satisfy an itch for wanderlust.

Well, he told himself grimly, that had certainly changed. Suddenly he had more responsibility than he’d ever dreamed of. He felt trapped, truth to tell, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Hell, he might as well be married. He poured himself another drink and shook his head adamantly. Charlene had almost quit trying to rope him in after the talk he’d had with her in New York. Then she heard the news about Kitty and Travis leaving, how he’d have to settle down and take care of things, and she’d started right in again. He did not want to hurt her, so he had almost stopped going to see her. Damn it, he didn’t want to get married. Not yet, anyhow.