Luck of the Wolf (11 page)

“Were you there when I was kidnapped?”

“Yes. A terrible thing. But it is over now, and soon you will be with them again.”

The tea suddenly tasted very bitter on Aria's tongue. “Why would anyone want to steal a little baby?”

Babette's delicate brows drew together. “A baby?” Her expression cleared. “Oh, yes. You have forgotten.” She set down her cup and touched Aria's arm. “You were not an infant but a child of twelve when it happened. I have no doubt that time spent with your family will restore what you have lost.”

With great effort Aria kept her body perfectly still. A child of twelve. At that age, she had been living in the mountains with Franz.

She could not be Lucienne Renier.

 

A
NNA WAS, INDEED
, a delightful girl. Rough around the edges she might be, but Babette was not in the least put off by that small flaw, or by the girl's tragic loss of memory. The child was beautiful, with the natural grace of all her kind, and was clearly as smart as a whip. Perhaps even perceptive enough to recognize that Babette, too, had something to hide.

Oh, it was not entirely a secret. At least not from Yuri, though Babette was certain that Cort didn't know who she really was. The naive country girl, who had been born Mathilde Babin in a bare, tiny cottage in Auvergne, had risen from common prostitute to become the most
celebrated courtesan and madam in New Orleans. Her brothel had become a watchword for gracious hospitality, and she had been content enough in her life.

Then she had met Baron Yuri Chernikov at an exclusive party and fallen in love. She had been ready to give up everything for him: fortune, comfort, pride.

But Yuri, who had once claimed to love her in return, would never marry a whore. He had ambition. She could have no part in the life he planned to create.

Babette smiled sadly and looked at the girl sleeping on the chaise longue, her hand trailing over the side and her astonishing golden hair draped across her face. Babette had trained girls before, but they had been intended for a very different fate. She must be careful never to step over the line. Anna must never learn what Babette Martin had been.

And Yuri must never learn that she still loved him.

Leaning her chin on her hand, Babette looked more carefully at Anna's recently mended dress. It might have been appropriate for a country girl or a servant with no expectation of improvement, but it was hardly suitable for the lady Anna had been and was to become again. Especially without corset or petticoats. Cort had bought foundation garments for the girl but had been wise enough to hold them in reserve until Babette arrived.

Babette's first task would be to teach Anna, the once and future Lucienne Renier, how to wear them. That might not be easy, for Yuri had been right. Anna was wild. But that would only lend her a certain fascination when Babette was finished.

Fascination, indeed. Babette remembered Cort's gruffness when he'd dealt with the girl, as if she could do nothing to please him. It seemed an unnecessarily harsh attitude when one considered that Cort and Yuri
planned to make money from returning her to the Reniers. True, the girl would ultimately benefit from their scheme, but Babette couldn't help but feel that there was more going on than met the eye.

For if there was one thing she had learned in her decades of pleasing men, it was the range of male emotions. Which was quite limited, really. They were driven by two basic feelings: lust and pride. Lust, under the right circumstances, could become something much more noble. But it must always contend with pride. Cortland Renier had plenty of both.

There was no doubt in Babette's mind that he lusted after his charge and was holding that lust in check with great difficulty.

And unless she was very much mistaken, Anna felt the same way. Babette had been convinced from the moment she'd walked into the room that Anna was a virgin, but virginity was hardly an obstacle to sexual desire. Anna had only just begun to recognize the urges, and power, of her own body.

Such power unleashed without understanding could lead to tragedy, and Anna's interests would not be best served if she acted without realizing the consequences. Still, it seemed highly unlikely that Monsieur Renier would indulge his lust or allow the girl to do so.

Did Yuri know what was brewing between them? He had given no indication of it, but she would not necessarily have expected him to notice unless the attraction became far more blatant than it was now. He would certainly not approve of any possible threat to their plans, no matter how remote it might seem to him.

It would be very interesting to see how things played out in the weeks ahead. Very interesting indeed. And if Babette could do just a little to help Anna recognize and
tame her woman's power—power she would need for whatever lay ahead—she would feel that she had done something of worth besides exchanging her experience for money.

With a smile of satisfaction over a decision well made, Babette poured herself a cup of cooling tea.

“W
E WILL LEAVE
San Francisco tomorrow,” Cort said.

He, Yuri and Babette had gathered in Cort's sitting room, tension bubbling among them like an overflowing pot of scalding soup.

Cort wasn't entirely certain of its source; Babette seemed perfectly composed, and if Yuri was glowering, that was hardly unusual. Once he'd seen them together, Cort had quickly surmised that they had been lovers sometime in the past, but Yuri wouldn't have invited Babette to be part of their scheme if he had considered their relationship to be problematic.

On the other hand, the fact that Aria had thrown Cort so completely off balance again gave him a strong desire to tear his own curtains from their rods, but he thought he was doing well enough in concealing the urge.

“No sign of observers?” Cort asked.

“You would know better than I,” Yuri said.

And, indeed, Cort hadn't seen any sign that Brecht's men, or Brecht himself, had come anywhere near the hotel. He had made subtle inquiries on the Coast and haunted the backstreets while Yuri watched Aria, and he had come to the conclusion that Brecht's hatchet man at the saloon had been telling the truth. Brecht was gone. With any luck, gone for good.

That was a powerful relief. There would be no going back once they left San Francisco. Provided there were
no further complications or attempted abductions, the solution to Cort's current problem was finally within his grasp. In a few months' time Aria would be a different girl. She would no longer be a hoyden blurting out whatever came into her mind, scrambling about in shirt and trousers, fighting like a street urchin and making propositions that would lead to her own disgrace. She would have learned control and discretion, and how to behave with a man.

Wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

“We are wasting time,” Yuri grumbled.

Cort glanced at Babette. “Are you ready to leave,
madame?
”

The Frenchwoman inclined her head. “I might have wished to take greater advantage of this city's better purveyors of fashion, but…”

“You knew we wouldn't be here long enough for that,” Yuri said.

“There are tailors and seamstresses in Sacramento,” Cort said. “They should be adequate until Ar-
Anna,
” he corrected himself, “is ready for New Orleans.”

Babette snapped open her fan. “Such a primitive place it sounds, this Sacramento,” she said, “yet I suppose it cannot be helped.” She cocked her head. “I presume you still wish to be discreet in our departure?”

“It would be foolish to take any unnecessary risks,” Cort said. “I am confident that Brecht has given up his pursuit, but…” He looked from Babette to Yuri. “We must take every precaution.”

“What do you suggest?” Yuri asked.

“I propose that that we split up. We will proceed as if Brecht is watching us, and make him believe he's following Anna when in fact he'll be chasing somebody else.”

“Ah.” Babette tapped her chin with one gloved finger. “It occurs to me that I am approximately Anna's size. Is that perhaps what you had in mind?”

“A
loup-garou
will generally rely on scent rather than sight,” Cort said. “If you dress in Anna's clothes, Brecht or any werewolves in his employ will follow you instead of her.”

“Out of the question,” Yuri said, starting up from his chair. “If there is the slightest chance that Brecht has not left San Francisco…”

“I think it is a good idea,” Babette said, reaching toward Yuri as if to ease him down again. “I see no reason to believe that this scheme will be particularly perilous.”

The Russian snorted loudly. “I presume
you
plan to accompany Anna while I escort Babette,” he said to Cort.

“Is it not the most sensible approach?” Babette said before Cort could reply.

“Sensible!” Yuri said. “Convenient, you mean.” He glared at Cort. “If I did not know you better, I would assume you were trying to preserve your own skin at our expense.”

The bitterness of Yuri's accusation cut Cort far more deeply than he could have expected. Yuri had no idea how little he wanted to travel alone with Aria.

“If I believed you would be in any danger,” Cort said stiffly, “I would find another way. This is only—”

Rising with an abrupt, angry motion, Yuri circled the room. “What is the rest of this plan?”

“You will take the ferry, then board the train bound for San Jose. Anna and I will travel by steamboat and rail to Sacramento.”

“And should anyone follow us and discover their
mistake,” Babette said, “they will simply get off at the next stop and resume their search for the real Lucienne Renier.”

“I am reassured,” Yuri said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “But you have not considered the possibility that they may wish to question us as to Cort's intentions.”

The force of Yuri's protests seemed more than a little out of character to Cort. The Russian had certainly been willing to take risks in the past when the reward was great enough, and this scheme was far less dangerous than many they'd attempted.

“I suggest that we arrange a public falling-out,” Cort said. “Anna can pretend that she wants nothing more to do with me, and you'll have ample reason to claim that we have broken off our partnership.”

“Why should Brecht or his men believe that she wants to leave you,” Yuri said, “after you fought beside her against them? She has obviously made no attempt to run away before. And Brecht will have realized that you don't work for the Reniers any more than he does. Why should you let Anna go with me?”

“C'est facile,”
Babette said. “Yuri and I shall conceal ourselves somewhere until the morning after the fight, making it appear as if Anna has fled, and Cort will appear greatly angered to anyone who may be watching. Then Cort and Anna, posing as myself, can reveal an intention to search for the runaway, delaying while Yuri and I go on to the ferry.”

“You make it sound simple,” Yuri said with a sneer.

“I do not see why it should not be.”

“My dear Babette, I never realized that your intellect was as well developed as—” Yuri looked her up and
down, his gaze coming to rest on her bosom, and made a gesture that took in her entire body.

Cort got to his feet. “Your behavior toward Madame Martin is unacceptable,” he said. “I was under the impression that you were friends, but regardless of your past relationship, I will tolerate no more of this disrespect.”

“Or what?” Yuri said with a mocking smile. “You'll challenge me to a duel?”

“It doesn't matter,” Babette said with a sweet smile. “I have always known Baron Chernikov had a foul temper.”

“Ha,” Yuri muttered.

Cort inclined his head to Babette.
“Merci, madame,”
he said. “If you are quite certain…”

“I trust your judgment with regard to this Brecht. In any case…” She shrugged eloquently. “I have lived far too dull an existence since I left New Orleans.”

“You will be recompensed for this additional service.”

She lifted her glass to him. They, at least, seemed to understand each other well enough, but Yuri continued to burn up the room with his stare.

“Let us assume,” the Russian said, “that Brecht's men, should they follow, do leave the train immediately upon discovering that they have been led astray. What then?”

“Once you're certain they've gone,” Cort said, “you will continue south a few more stops, leave the train and make arrangements to join us in Sacramento.”

Yuri said nothing more, and after a while Babette rose gracefully and excused herself. Yuri sat down again and fingered the stem of his wineglass, spinning it around and around in its puddle of condensation.

“I have my own proposition to make,” he said at last. “
I
will take Aria, and you will go with Babette. Brecht is more likely to follow
you
if he believes Babette is Lucienne.”

“Do you think I hadn't considered that?” Cort said. “The fact remains that the one most in danger is Aria herself. Can you best a
loup-garou
in a fight? You're far more likely to face the threat of harm if you are with her, and you will not be in a position to defend her.”

“There was a time when you would have done anything to avoid a fight yourself.”

Cort remembered the fierce joy that had come over him for the brief time he had fought the men in the saloon—before he'd had the sense to be disgusted with himself. “I will, of course, do what is necessary.” He caught Yuri's gaze. “I would almost believe that you consider Brecht a much greater threat than you have indicated. Is there something else you should be telling me?”

“Nyet.”
Yuri rose. “I presume you will inform the girl of our plan. I will await further instruction.”

He bowed with mocking formality and walked out of the room, leaving Cort to brood over what the Russian had said. There
was
no risk. Perhaps he should show his confidence by abandoning the plan altogether.

But if there was even a one-in-a-thousand chance that someone would come after them…

Cort growled at his own foolishness. He'd made sure of Brecht's men. They wouldn't dare make a move on the German's behalf. It was over.

 

T
HEY PUT THE ESCAPE PLAN
into effect the next morning. Aria had vociferously protested the whole affair, unwilling to pretend to fight with Cort in public and
determined to persuade them to abandon the masquerade. Madame Martin had gently but firmly convinced her that the plan, however flawed, was their best course.

In spite of her doubts, Aria proved to be an excellent actress, so convincing that Cort himself half believed that she hated him. They staged the performance in the hearing of several hotel employees, not quite public but effective enough. The argument was left deliberately vague, so that the eavesdroppers couldn't be sure of the reason for the fight.

When Aria went with Yuri, parting from Cort and Babette in a flurry of feigned curses and threats, Babette returned to her room, where she put on one of Aria's dresses, saturated with her subtle scent. Aria, in turn, wore Babette's simplest gown. Both women were to wear hats with veils of heavy netting.

Yuri and Babette “departed” the hotel a short time later. Cort made a show of anger at their betrayal in front of the boy who came to take his bags, while Aria remained hidden. Cort had already purchased tickets for the steamboat departing for Sacramento from Pier Three. They would disembark at a point along the Sacramento River and continue by train.

They reached the pier without incident, and by the time they boarded the boat, Cort had abandoned any last-minute concerns. Aria said very little as they crossed a string of bays and entered the river. Only when they changed over to the train and found their seats did she speak again.

“I'm sorry I had to shout at you,” she said.

“You did just as you we asked to do,” Cort said, not quite able to forget the fire and loathing in Aria's
eyes when she had played her part with such apparent enthusiasm.

“I hated it,” she said. She looked up, anxiety plain in her eyes. “Do you think Yuri and Babette are all right?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“But Madame Martin…I don't want anything to happen to her.”

“She is in no danger.”

She searched Cort's face. “I like her very much. You like her, too.”

Cort shifted uncomfortably. “I respect her,” he said. “She is an intelligent woman who understands the world as it is.”

“Do you like her…better than me?”

Good God. Aria was jealous. He'd thought her attitude toward Babette had been unusually defiant, but he hadn't considered all the possible implications of her behavior.

He'd been a damned fool not to, after their very uncomfortable conversation in the hotel room. What was going through that busy little head of hers? She'd asked him if he'd ever done “it.” Could she possibly think he'd had sexual relations with Babette?

He groaned silently. One moment he was convinced Aria was entirely ignorant of the most basic aspects of male and female relationships, and the next that she understood everything all too well.

The train rocked sharply, and Cort's stomach rattled with it. “I am saddened that you feel it necessary to ask that question, Anna,” he said, barely remembering to use her public name.

Aria sank down in her seat and tucked her chin against her chest. Cort was greatly relieved that she wasn't
inclined to continue the conversation, but the relief didn't last. She was so close that their arms touched, and Babette's slightly perfumed scent was giving way to Aria's very natural but alluring fragrance.

Like Babette better than Aria? A beautiful, charming, sophisticated woman over this…this…

This equally beautiful, honest, fearless, extraordinary girl.

“We will be in Sacramento soon,” he said abruptly. “The hotel we'll stay in is modest, on the edge of town, but I don't expect to be there long. We will wait for Yuri and Babette, and then go on to the mountains.”

Even the thought of new surroundings far away from the city didn't seem to cheer Aria. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the seat back in front of her.

“Would you…” She swallowed audibly. “Would you be very disappointed if…if things didn't go as we plan?”

The question was entirely unexpected. Cort sat up in his seat. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean if—” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “I mean if I don't turn out the way you want me to? If I can't be a lady?”

Only her usual fears after all. “What makes you ask now, Anna?”

She shuffled her feet. “Madame Martin is so elegant. I don't see how I can ever be like her.”