The Golden Valkyrie (3 page)

“Honey Winston,” she supplied.

The men exchanged amused glances.

“An actress?” Rubinoff asked.

“No,” Honey answered crossly. She had always hated her name with a passion. “It’s my real name. I was told that my mother thought my hair looked like honey when I was born.”

“It must have lightened considerably since then,” Rubinoff said softly. “It looks like snow in the moonlight now. How long is it when you take it down?”

“Almost to the middle of my back,” she answered automatically, gazing hypnotically into those soft, glowing eyes. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. “What earthly difference does it make how long my hair is?” she demanded, almost stamping her foot in exasperation.

“I like long hair,” he explained with utmost reasonableness. “It’s virtually a fetish with me.”

“I’m sure a man of your experience has quite a few of those,” she said crossly. “I’m surprised you didn’t give in to your little figure-skater’s demands.”

He looked momentarily surprised. “That’s right! You did overhear that, didn’t you?” He smiled so warmly that it took her breath away. “Did the idea appeal to you? I wouldn’t mind doing it with you, sweetheart. I don’t think I’d even notice the cold.”

Honey mentally counted to ten before she said quite slowly, enunciating every word precisely, “No, it does not appeal to me. I do not want to make love with you on the ice, or in a bed, or on top of Mount Everest. I do not want to make love with you at all. Is that clear?”

“I didn’t offer Mount Everest,” Rubinoff said, his lips curving in an impish grin. “But it’s not a bad idea. The thin air could make it quite an erotic experience. Perhaps we’d better think about that.” He turned to Ben Raschid and asked interestedly, “You do a lot of mountain climbing, Alex. Is this a good time of the year for scaling Mount Everest?”

Ben Raschid cocked his head thoughtfully. “I shouldn’t think so,” he said lazily. “I’d wait a month or so, until the weather is less uncertain.”

“Why don’t you listen to me?” Honey wailed. “I didn’t come here to go to bed with you. I came to get Señora Gomez’s letters.” She ran her hand frustratedly through her carefully coiffed hair, scattering pins in all directions. “If you hadn’t been such an egotistical monster and insisted on keeping them, none of this would have happened.”

“Letters?” Ben Raschid asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “Have you started collecting mementos, Lance?”

“Of course not,” Rubinoff said, still gazing at Honey with that molten, glowing warmth. She wished he wouldn’t do that. It had a very peculiar effect on her. “Manuela Gomez? I don’t even recall receiving any letters from Manuela. Are you a friend of hers, sweetheart?”

“She hired me to get back the letters,” Honey said. She was a bit relieved that at least they were beginning to listen to her. “I’m a private investigator.” She glared at Rubinoff accusingly. “She was very upset. She said she’d begged you to return her letters but you just laughed at her.”

“A private investigator?” Lance Rubinoff asked softly. He shook his head firmly. “That’s not a job for a lovely thing like you. You could get into all kinds of trouble, smuggling yourself into strange men’s hotel suites.”

His eyes traveled admiringly over her curves and long, shapely legs in the black tights. “I thought private detectives all wore trenchcoats and deerstalker hats. I must admit that I much prefer your outfit, sweetheart. Is it your usual garb or do you save it for burgling hotel suites?”

“Of course it’s not my usual outfit,” she said in exasperation. “I didn’t know what I’d find when I arrived here. I thought I might possibly have to get in by way of an air-conditioning vent or something.”

Rubinoff cocked his head consideringly as his eyes went to the twelve-inch-square opening of the vent across the room. His eyes returned to linger on the voluptuous swell of her breasts. “You’d never have made it, love,” he said solemnly.

“I know that now,” she said. “Will you or will you not give me those letters to return to Señora Gomez?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Rubinoff said, as he lazily rose to his feet. “But I have every intention of finding out. I’ll just give Manuela a call and see what she’s up to.” He took a step closer to Honey. “We might as well take the rest of those pins out; it’s falling down anyway,” he added softly, his gaze holding hers. She was scarcely aware of his deft hands plucking at the remaining pins, until her hair tumbled into a heavy white-gold glory about her shoulders.

“God, that’s fantastic,” he breathed hoarsely. “Isn’t that beautiful, Alex?”

“Beautiful,” Alex agreed lightly, but his voice served to break the spell Rubinoff seemed to weave about her so effortlessly.

She took a deep breath and stepped back. “I am not a
thing,
” she said firmly. “I’m an intelligent professional, not some pretty little sex object for your amusement.”

“And spirit, too,” Rubinoff said. “Damn, she’s a sweet little th—woman,” he corrected smoothly. He turned and strode swiftly toward a door on the far side of the room. “I’ll call Manuela on the bedroom extension,” he continued briskly. “Don’t let our guest leave before I get back, Alex.” He turned at the door, his blue eyes twinkling. “And don’t let her put her hair back up!”

Little? She’d never felt little or lacking in strength in her whole life until she’d encountered one Prince Rubinoff, she mused bewilderedly. Why did the man have such a weird effect on her?

“Is he always like that?” she asked dazedly, gazing blankly at the closed bedroom door.

“Most of the time,” Ben Raschid said with a shrug. “Won’t you sit down, Miss Winston? Lance may be some time. As I remember, Manuela Gomez can be voluble.”

Honey crossed to the couch and dropped down on its cushioned surface, her eyes still fixed on the room into which Rubinoff had disappeared. “He’s totally and certifiably insane,” she said positively.

Ben Raschid shook his head, his dark eyes thoughtfully following her own. “No,” he denied quietly. “He’s quite brilliant, really. Don’t be fooled by that flippant facade. Have you ever read Rafael Sabatini?” At Honey’s questioning nod, he went on. “There’s an opening line in
Scaramouche
that always makes me think of Lance.” He quoted softly: “‘He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense of the world gone mad.’” His lips twisted mockingly. “You’ll note the distinction. If a man believes the world is mad, how can you expect him to take it seriously?”

“It must be a trifle uncomfortable for those around him who don’t view life so lightly,” Honey said, frowning disapprovingly.

“I don’t think he’s had any complaints so far.” There was a suspicion of a twinkle in the dark eyes. “Certainly not from any of the women of his acquaintance.”

That went without saying. Honey had just had a potent demonstration of that dizzying charm and overpowering virility. Yet she still felt called upon to protest acidly. “Evidently Señora Gomez is the exception to the rule.”

“I suggest that we wait and see,” Ben Raschid answered cynically. “I rather suspect that Manuela is playing a little game. If Lance says there were no letters, then they just don’t exist. I’ve never known Lance to lie about anything. He has a positive passion for honesty.” He grimaced wryly. “Which is why we try to keep him away from the company director’s meetings.”

“He’s no businessman, I gather.”

“No one expects him to be. His interests lie in other areas,” Ben Raschid said carelessly. “When Grandfather deeded him his property, his only stipulation was that he cast his vote in the board meetings with mine. He knew he could trust Lance to keep his promise. He’s completely loyal to those he cares about.”

“Like Señora Gomez?” Honey asked caustically. “He doesn’t appear to have been too trustworthy in her case. She was absolutely terrified when she couldn’t persuade him to either destroy or return those letters. She was sure that her husband would discover that she’d had an affair with Prince Rubinoff.”

Ben Raschid frowned. “That doesn’t fit the picture either. Alonzo Gomez is usually very tolerant of Manuela’s affairs as long as she’s discreet. Why should she be in such a tizzy at this late date?”

“Since when are Prince Rubinoff’s affairs ever discreet?” Honey asked dryly.

A smile lit up Ben Raschid’s dark, guarded face with surprising warmth. “You have a point there,” he admitted. “So I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what Manuela has to say, won’t we?”

Whatever Manuela had to say seemed to take an inconceivably long time, for it was another ten minutes at least before Rubinoff came back into the room. It was clear that the conversation had not pleased him, for there was a dark frown on his face.

“The woman has the brain of a flea,” he said disgustedly as he strolled over to the couch to stand before Honey. “And the ethical standards of the commandant of a concentration camp. I’m sorry, Honey.”

“Sorry?” Honey asked slowly, sitting up straighter on the couch.

“It was Manuela’s idea of a joke,” Rubinoff explained, his expression grave. “I haven’t called her since we flew into town, and she thought it would be a clever way of getting my attention.” His scowl darkened. “Dear heaven, how I hate kittenish women!”

“But you weren’t even supposed to be here,” Honey said blankly, trying to comprehend what he was telling her.

“She was going to make an anonymous phone call at the dinner party tonight and have me summoned back to the suite.” He grimaced. “She thought finding a luscious blonde in my suite who was supposedly sent by her would intrigue me. Like I said, she’s not very bright. It never occurred to her that the blonde would make me forget that Manuela ever existed.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think she’s quite clever,” Honey said slowly. At first she had been stunned and disbelieving, but now she felt a slow-burning anger that was greater than any she had known. “She was certainly clever enough to fool me. Your mistress must have been very pleased with herself. I was completely taken in.”

It only increased her fury when he shrugged and failed to deny the accusation. “I told you she was a fool,” he said gruffly. “And she’s not my mistress. Not anymore.”

Honey jumped to her feet and faced him, her hands knotted into fists at her sides. “Do you mean that her charming little ploy didn’t earn her a place back in your affections?” she asked caustically. “I’d have thought it would have amused you enormously, Your Highness. You’re quite a one for pranks yourself, I understand. No wonder she thought that making a fool out of an innocent bystander would intrigue you.”

There was an answering flicker of anger in Rubinoff’s eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been accused of any real maliciousness in any of the mischief I’ve perpetrated,” he said curtly. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll accept the responsibility for Manuela’s little tricks.” He drew a deep breath and said more quietly, “I said I was sorry. If you’ll just calm down, we can discuss how I can make it up to you.”

Honey was pacing up and down like an enraged lioness, her hair floating about her in a shimmering white-gold veil, her face taut with fury. “And what do you intend to do to recompense me,
Your Highness?
” she asked furiously. “Perhaps you could write me a check for my trouble. Isn’t that the usual method of handling the hoi polloi? Write the lady a check and she’ll forget she’d been humiliated and manipulated. After all, it was just a joke!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit unfair, Miss Winston?” Ben Raschid asked quietly. “Lance has already explained that this wasn’t a part of his game plan.”

“Game plan,” Honey repeated bitterly. “Yes, that’s really the right name for it. It’s all a game to people like you, isn’t it? You think that you can use people and then just throw them away like tissues. Well, I don’t like being considered disposable. I may not be a member of your precious jet set, but I have more integrity than the whole kit and kaboodle of you, despite the fact that I have to work for my living!” She paused in her pacing to stand before Rubinoff, her breasts heaving, her cheeks flaming with bright flags of color. “You should try it sometime. It’s a great character builder, a quality you’re obviously lacking. Perhaps if you had something to occupy you besides bedding malicious little coffee heiresses and nympho ice skaters, you might develop a little.”

“I agree,” Rubinoff said solemnly, his lips twitching. “I think bedding a dedicated private detective would be much more inspiring.”

Honey gritted her teeth to keep from shouting at him. Couldn’t the man stay serious for two consecutive minutes? “I’m glad you’re finding this amusing,” she said fiercely. “But then, what else could I expect from a dilettante like you?”

She wheeled and strode swiftly across the room, toward the door, her back rigid with fury. “Good night, gentlemen. It’s been an experience to remember, but not one I’d care to repeat.” The door slammed sharply behind her.

“Somehow I don’t think you managed to soothe her ruffled feelings,” Ben Raschid said mockingly, taking a sip of his drink. “She still appears a trifle perturbed with you.”

“Can you blame her?” Rubinoff asked tersely, frowning at the closed door moodily. “Damn Manuela Gomez!”

Ben Raschid finished his drink in one swallow and rose lithely to his feet. “As entertaining as I found it to see you under fire, I’m glad your gorgeous Valkyrie decided to put an end to the scene. We’re going to be late for the party as it is. I suggest that we grab a quick bite and get on our way.”

“You go ahead. I’m not hungry,” Rubinoff told him absently, still staring at the door. “With all that shining silvery hair floating about her and those great blazing eyes, she
was
rather like a Valkyrie, wasn’t she?”

Ben Raschid’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully on his cousin’s absorbed face. “It’s natural that she should capture your imagination,” he said slowly. “But may I remind you that the Valkyries were reputed to be very dangerous ladies?”

“But not boring,” Rubinoff murmured. “Definitely not boring.” He turned away abruptly and strode toward the telephone on the graceful Sheraton desk in the corner of the room. “Do you still have the card that fellow from the State Department gave you? What was his name?”