The Count From Wisconsin (2 page)

She smiled again, deciding she definitely liked the idea. But her smile faded when he stepped forward, his soft laugh filling the shadows. Her eyes grew round and she backed hastily to her former place against the tree.

"That's a start," he murmured huskily. "You've got a stunning smile and it almost makes it worth my while . . . but not quite."

He continued to move steadily toward her as he spoke, and the closer he drew, the stronger the tingling became, until when he was a couple of feet away, her flesh almost burned with the sensation.

She felt it linger on her face as she nervously moistened dry lips, then on her full, firm breasts, causing her nipples to grow taut and thrust tightly against the thin gold silk. When the whisper of electric current moved slowly across her stomach and down to her hips and thighs, it spread a sizzling warmth to the secret places of her body.

She drew in her breath sharply at the incredible sensation, then shifted in acute awareness as the tingling returned swiftly to the rounded tops of her breasts that the indrawn breath had exposed above the low-draped bodice.

Leaning weakly against the tree, she closed her eyes in frustration. This man was definitely dangerous. Perhaps not in the way she had originally imagined, but dangerous nonetheless. She suddenly had the feeling that she was no longer in control of her own body.

Making a tremendous effort to pull herself together, Kate decided that not being able to see him clearly had to be part of the reason he disturbed her senses so. She drew the large tortoise-shell glasses from her purse and slid them on.

As she did, the moonlight struck full upon him and the shadowy garden seemed to fade and disappear into nothing until there was only his face. Her heart stopped for a breathless moment, then picked up again with a hectic, almost painful beat as she felt an indescribable, fleeting moment of recognition,

Not that Kate had ever seen him before; she definitely would have remembered him if she had. It wasn't recognition of a face or shape; it was something more basic and came from a deeper level.

The shadows filled the crevices in his face; the rays of the moon highlighting his hard, vital features. The overpowering masculinity, high cheekbones, and strong, distinctive nose gave him the look of a Comanche warrior ... or a devil. Satan in tight black slacks and white shirt, open low at the throat, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows.

"Geronimo," she whispered vaguely.

He stopped abruptly. "I beg your pardon," he said, his voice frankly puzzled.

"Geronimo," she repeated.

"That's what you say when you jump out of an airplane." Now she could see the amusement on his strong, irregular features. "Somehow the significance of that escapes me," he said and shook his head.

"Come to think of it, that's how I felt a minute ago," she said frankly, her tone woeful; then she stared at him inquisitively as she recalled what he had said earlier. "Were you really peeking in the windows?"

"Yes, I really was." He chuckled.

"Aren't there guards or eunuchs or something hanging around to stop that kind of thing?"

"I haven't seen a single guard," he said, then paused thoughtfully. "There was one man who I couldn't swear wasn't a eunuch, but he was inside."

"Oh, really?" she asked, her eyes brightening with interest, and began to walk toward the villa. "I knew I was missing a lot by not wearing my glasses," she threw over her shoulder in a disgusted voice.

"Where are you going?" he asked, following behind her.

"I want to see," was her only explanation as she approached a large, diamond-paned window. Peering inside, she whispered, "Which one is the eunuch?"

His voice came from directly behind her as he watched from over her shoulder. "The bald one over there in the corner," he said, chuckling quietly.

"The one with the sash?" she asked. "No, definitely not a eunuch . . . look at the way he's eyeing that blonde." She paused. "Who's the one in the middle of the room who looks like Charles Laughton?"

"Let's see," he said, leaning closer. "That's Charles Laughton."

"Idiot," she said, smiling as she leaned against the wall. "It's a woman."

"Oh, my mistake," he apologized. "That's Charles Laughton's mother."

She laughed as she darted him a look of accusation. "You don't know who they are any more than I do."

"Yes, I do. It's just that the truth is boring compared to speculation."

"Give me a for instance."

"Okay . . . see that man?" He indicated a tall, elegantly dressed man standing next to an ebony escritoire. "Take a guess on what he does."

"Hmmm. He looks like a nobleman," she said finally. "A count or a duke at least."

"He makes hats," he said flatly.

"You're kidding."

"No, he does. They're very chic and very expensive, but they're still hats." He nodded toward the same group of people. "Now look at the guy next to him. What would you say was his occupation?"

Kate looked at the stout, garishly dressed man whose features were so plain as to be outstanding. "You're trying to throw me off," she murmured. "Logically, he would be the duke, but I don't believe it. With that jacket, he's got to be a used-car salesman."

"He's a Greek millionaire . . . shipping money, you know," he added in slightly nasal mimicry.

"Okay, you win—" she began, then broke off when she heard loud laughter coming from the far corner of the room. "What about that livery redhead that everyone's paying attention to? She must be someone's mistress. She's gorgeous and seductive. The kind men fall all over."

"Wrong again." He grinned as he leaned against the window frame to look down at Kate. "She's the very proper wife of that man beside her and her official title is Lady Eleanor Whitfield."

"How disappointing . . . and dull," she added, raising one trim eyebrow in surprise. "Aren't there any rakes or playboys or notorious women in there? You would think in all that crowd of people there would be at least one person who was involved in a sex scandal or who was being blackmailed. I can't—"

She broke off suddenly as she was struck with an idea and was aware only at the edge of her mind of the way he swung around sharply to stare at her.

The characters were there, she thought, her mind working furiously. She had been looking for glamorous, worldly people, but the characters she did best were ordinary. If she could show an ordinary character thrown into this extravagant, slightly comic world of opulence . . .

"What are you doing?" he asked, still staring.

"Wait. . . wait," she said, hushing him as she searched her evening purse for the small pad she had placed in it earlier. With a felt-tipped pen she sketched like mad for a few moments, turning the too small pages frantically.

"May I see?"

His voice pulled her away from her intense concentration and she glanced up. "What?" she asked vaguely. "Oh . . . no, not yet. Let me think about it for a while."

Returning the pen and pad to her bag, she turned back to the scene framed by the window just as the orchestra began to play a lovely Strauss waltz. Chattering voices from the room were muffled as the music reached her ears, clear and vital. She turned sideways and closed her eyes to let the music wash over her as the rush of adrenaline faded away.

"You like Strauss?"

She smiled. "Have you ever met anyone who didn't like Strauss?" She opened her eyes and sighed. "But I must say, the people in there"—she gestured toward the room—"don't seem to appreciate it."

He smiled and, without a word, began to pull her slowly toward a small clearing.

"What are we doing?" she asked quizzically as he raised her left hand to his shoulder.

"We're appreciating it," he said, then reached down and removed her glasses, placing them in his breast pocket. As she squinted up at him in bewilderment he placed a hand on her waist while with the other he clasped her right hand. Then, incredibly, there in the moonlight as the music floated through the trees, they began to waltz.

His steps were sure and even as they circled on the carpet of grass, and at first Kate had the urge to laugh, then she felt herself traveling back to a more gracious, more romantic time. She could almost see the flickering light of thousands of candles and the gay, billowing skirts of a world past.

She was spellbound. Closing her eyes, she soared with the feeling, letting the exuberance of the waltz pour through her veins as they swung around their woodland ballroom for endless moments. The tempo of the music accelerated and they whirled round and round, moving faster and ever faster until she was breathless.

Suddenly, as the waltz died away, he caught her in his arms and stared down at her as she threw back her head and laughed in sheer exhilaration and delight.

For a moment he didn't move, as though he, too, felt the magic of the moment and was afraid of spoiling it. Then, when the orchestra began to play a more current love song, he placed both hands on her hips to bring her closer and they began to sway gently with the sensual music.

The extraordinary fantasy didn't have Kate totally under its spell. For one brief second before he lowered his mouth to her throat she thought about protesting—she honestly did. Then she felt the heat of his lips on her sensitive flesh and other thoughts took over.

He began to move his hands slowly. The movements weren't obvious and there was nothing she could pinpoint as being too forward, but though he was subtle, he was nonetheless seducing her. Silently, as they danced, he was making love to her with his strong, knowledgeable hands . . . his warm, mobile lips. Her neck arched in an uncontrollable response as she felt his warm breath on the sensitive cords of her neck, then the vulnerable curve of her shoulders.

The dazzling dance under the stars could have lasted for hours or only minutes. Time was lost for Kate as she heard the husky love words whispered in her ear, tasted the brandy on his lips, and felt his strong, masculine body pressed tightly against her softness. For the first time in her life she willingly relinquished control of her actions and simply followed where she was led.

So deeply affected was she by the enchanted moment that she had to stifle a tiny, protesting groan when he stopped the subtle, erotic movements and pulled her head away from his shoulder, framing her face with his long, hard fingers to stare down at her intently.

Lifting her eyelids lethargically, she exposed dazed brown eyes to his gaze. "Hi," she said lazily, then laughed merely because he did.

His hands tightened on her face for a moment, then he moved his thumb slowly across her swollen lips, inhaled a raspy breath, and began to walk with her through the trees.

Two

As they moved silently through the garden, Kate leaned against the man beside her, moving her cheek unconsciously against the soft fabric of his white shirt . . . fabric as soft and sensual as the finest silk. There was something about that shirt. Something she should think about, but she couldn't quite grasp what it was. Something . . .

Then without warning the fantasy ended. Reality descended upon her with the swiftness and devastation of lightning, shattering the enchanted dream.

It wasn't anything as noble as conscience that pulled Kate away from the fantastic interlude . . . nor her strong sense of independence . . . nor even good, old-fashioned common sense. No, she was pulled away by a force that makes no allowances for moonlight and roses and Johann Strauss . . . the noisy protestations of an empty stomach.

Giving a gasp of uncontrollable laughter at the untimely Interruption, she began, "How gauche . . . how totally, predictably—" then broke off abruptly when she realized where she was and who she was with.

Jerking her head up, she gaped at the man beside her. "Wait—hold on just a second," she gasped, slapping comically at the hand on her arm. Backing away, she gave a shaky laugh of disbelief, her brown eyes widening as she stared at him warily.

"What's going on?" she asked, not really expecting him to answer. "How did we get from there"—she pointed to the window—"to here?" She waved her hand quickly between the two of them. "I don't understand," she said, giving a short laugh. "I'm going heaven knows where to do heaven knows what with a . . . with a—" She glanced at him again, taking in his casual dress as she raised her hands in an emphatic gesture of self-disgust. "A peeping Tom! An honest-to-God, dyed-in-the-wool pervert."

"A gate-crasher berating a peeping Tom."

The quietly spoken words pulled her up short and she stared at him warily as he leaned lazily against a tree.

"Considering the untoward way you've behaved, Duchess, I don't believe you have a leg to stand on," he-continued smugly, and Kate could hear the animation returning to his voice.

She continued to stare at him for a moment, then glanced away, struggling to keep from looking guilty. "My behavior was every bit as toward as yours . . . towarder," she mumbled defensively, then looked up at him in curiosity. "How do you know I came uninvited?"

Her question brought him up short for a moment, then he smiled. "I could tell by the way you acted," he said, dismissing her doubtful expression with a casual shrug. "You obviously didn't know anyone in the room . . . except perhaps the blond gift of the gods that was drooling all over you a minute ago." He sent her an inquiring glance. "Did he bring you?"

Kate felt it was better if she didn't answer thaat question, just in case this man was the gardener or someone else who belonged to the estate.

She forced a smile and, keeping her voice carefully casual, said, "Gee, it's been nice . . . um . . . Tom, but I think I'd better be going now."

When she turned to walk away, she felt her arm grasped by the long fingers that had caressed her moments earlier and she caught her breath, glancing back uneasily.

"Before you go, answer one question for me, Duchess," he said slowly, watching her with a genuinely puzzled expression on his face. "What happened? Why did you suddenly decide you didn't want to have anything to do with me? I could swear you were with me back there."

She stared at him speculatively. "That's two questions," she said at last.

"So answer two questions," he said in exasperation.

She stood for a moment gazing up at the stars, then cut her eyes back toward him. "My stomach."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm starving to death," she said emphatically. "I can't understand why you didn't hear it. It definitely wasn't a discreet growl," she added in a disgruntled voice. "It was one of those that starts high and picks up momentum as it gets lower, throwing in artistic pings and thrums as it goes."

"Pings and thrums?" he asked, throwing back his head to laugh In uninhibited enjoyment.

She grinned at him, unable to resist his laughter. "I never did manage to find the food in that gargantuan house and my stomach reminded me at a very opportune moment ... I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," he said, his laugh settling down to a chuckle as he threw a companionable arm around her shoulders. "I don't think I've ever been thrown over for a canape before. I can't say that I like it and it certainty doesn't do much for my image."

She began to walk again with him beside her. Somehow it seemed natural to be walking through the trees like that while he held her intimately at his side. She glanced up at him. "What's your image?"

"Suave pervert," he said without hesitation. She acknowledged the thrust with a spurt of startled laughter.

"No, I was wrong," she said without rancor. "You belong here, don't you?" Her glance became speculative when she asked as an afterthought, "What exactly do you do?"

There was a barely perceptible pause before he answered. "A little of everything."

"You mean like a handyman?"

"You could say that," he said, nodding. "As a matter of fact, I'm very handy at finding food."

He stopped suddenly and Kate looked up to find they were standing at a side entrance to the villa. When she realized he planned to usher her through the door, she dug in her heels, suddenly refusing to budge.

She was doing it again, she thought in amazement. She was amiably going along with a man unknown to her, a man she had never seen before tonight.

She reached out to retrieve her glasses from his pocket, slipped them on, then leaned against the wall as she began to search the figure before her for a clue to her incredible behavior.

He was not a man who would ever be mistaken for someone else. Not handsome In the conventional sense, his face was breathtakingly striking—a piece of granite chipped away to reveal strong, almost harsh lines. His features had an ageless quality that could have placed him anywhere between thirty and forty-five, and his deep tan merely added to his dark image. A bit longer than was fashionable, his black hair and rugged, unconventional features gave him a look of barely contained power so exciting Kate had to struggle to control her escalating pulse rate.

"Well, what have you decided?" his amused voice prompted.

Startled from her reverie, Kate blinked in confusion and found the object of her thoughts leaning indolently beside her, effectively trapping her between his body and the rough plaster wall, looking disgustingly pleased by her Intense scrutiny.

The man was... he was. . . She couldn't find an adjective to describe him. The word beautiful popped into her head, but she discarded it quickly, knowing it was wrong. She realized that by some standards he might even be considered ugly and she couldn't put her finger on any one feature that appealed to her so much; she simply knew she reacted to him more strongly than anyone she had ever met.

But he was just a man after all and she could find nothing in his person that gave a clue to the staggering effect he was having on her emotions.

To be perfectly honest, she didn't trust this sudden surge of intense feeling. It had happened too fast to be real.

"I've really got to go," she murmured to herself, shaking her head. "Something very strange is going on in my head. I'm coming very close to trotting willy-nilly after a man who all but attacked me."

"Attacked you!" he said in mock astonishment, his midnight eyes gleaming. "My dear Duchess, I haven't touched you since the minute you indicated my advances weren't welcome."

"You have me backed against the wall and you're looming over me like some damned great mountain," she accused, her belligerence holding a degree of desperation.

"Six two is hardly a mountain and you backed against the wall without my help ... I thought perhaps you had a plaster fetish, but I wasn't going to mention it," he added with a wicked grin. "I merely wanted to feed you. Is that a crime?"

She studied him for a moment, weakening against her will as the force of his smile warmed her. "How do I know what you intend? For all I know you could be planning to take me to the dungeon ..."

Kate ruined the dramatic accusation by giggling. She couldn't help it. No matter how serious the situation, her sense of humor eventually got the better of her. She struggled to control it, to maintain her dignity, but it was no use. With her dignity taking its usual backseat, she looked up at him through her sooty, temporary eyelashes and let her offbeat sense of humor have free rein.

"... and there," she continued with relish, moving away to punctuate her speech with enthusiastic gestures, "inflamed by my startling beauty, abuse my childlike innocence with your ravening appetites, afterward disposing of my broken body by mailing little bits and pieces of me to small, uninteresting places all over the world."

She glanced over her shoulder to find him whistling under his breath as he stared up at the sky. After a moment, he lowered his gaze to her. "Are you through?"

She nodded, smothering a laugh as she took in his long-suffering expression.

"You're sure?" he added, solicitously. When she nodded again, he said, "If I promise not to chop you up and send you C.O.D., will that reassure you?"

"And the part about abusing my childlike innocence?" she prompted inquisitively.

"We'll negotiate on my ravening appetites," he hedged, then, when her expression changed, he reassured her lazily, "Just teasing, Duchess."

Kate stared intently at the smiling man, then at the ground, nibbling on the tip of a pink nail as she considered the problem. Despite the warning signals going off in her head, she was seriously tempted to go with this stranger. Common sense and a deeply ingrained streak of self-preservation warned against it, but she was woman enough to be intrigued by this man who stirred so many different emotions in her.

She raised confused eyes to the object of her thoughts, catching his face in an unguarded moment. There was a strangely wistful quality about the look in his eyes. The vulnerability she saw there was her undoing. It didn't fit her impression of him at all and shook her in a way she didn't understand.

She opened her mouth to tell him to lead on, but before she could speak, he straightened and snapped his fingers.

"Of course! You're waiting for a formal introduction, aren't you? Very wise of you," he added, nodding sagely, then he opened the side door. "Don't move from this spot. Duchess. I'll be right back."

She didn't have long to wait, but before he returned, the memory of her weakness as they danced rose up to plague her and she began to question the wisdom of her decision. She had taken one step away when the door opened again and he stood there with a thin, blond man who was obviously a servant.

The nervous young man stepped forward after a nod of encouragement from Kate's dark stranger. Even though they were standing in the dark, there was enough moonlight reflected by the white wall for her to recognize the painful blush on the younger man's face.

"Mademoiselle," he said shyly, "may I present the monsieur. He is very respectable. He is ... ah . . . gainfully employed." He said the words as if reading a list. "He has never been in jail. . . . But, Monsieur," he said, turning to the other man, "what about the time—"

"That doesn't count. Continue, Henri."

The nervous young man looked at Kate, then shifted his gaze to the stars as though asking for divine intervention and continued as ordered. "He is kind to children. He hardly ever"—he swallowed noisily—"kick old females or dogs and"—his expression was pained as he finished in a constricted voice—"he has not chop up anyone since the doctors have change dhis medication."

By the end of Henri's incredible speech, Kate had to hold on to the wall to keep herself upright. She watched through tears of laughter as the "monsieur" shooed away the young man with a careless "That was fine, Henri," before turning to Kate. "Now will you let me feed you?"

"I have to admit I'm curious," she said, trying to catch her breath. "Promise you'll tell me all about the time in jail that doesn't count," she added as she moved through the door with a confidence that most certainly would have been shaken had she seen the gleam in her companion's dark eyes as he followed her.

"You won't regret it," he said as they walked down a dark hall. "They like me in the kitchen."

He began to whistle and the sound echoed in the dim hallway. Kate was just beginning to wonder if they actually were going to the dungeon when he opened another door and they walked into a huge, brightly lit kitchen.

The room seemed to be filled with bustling, people. Two women arranged food on large silver trays; several men carried huge stainless-steel bowls from a walk-in refrigerator. Tall metal pots as big as milk cans sat on the stove.

The wonderful smells pervading every corner of the room caused Kate's stomach to resume its unhappy protestations. She looked up at the man beside her and said longingly, "You distract them and I'll grab a tray."

He laughed. "That won't be necessary. Just come with me."

Kate followed close behind as he moved across the room, then slowed warily when he stopped beside a small man who was in the process of rapping a wooden spoon across the knuckles of a very large man arranging food on one of the trays.