What Wild Moonlight (39 page)

Jeremy stopped pacing just as she finished tying her handkerchief into a firm knot, securing the volatile powders within.

“That’s why I must have the Stone,” he concluded. “It will help to solidify my position as the DuValenti heir apparent. In any case, I already have Nicholas’s scroll, and I’ll find yours eventually. You may as well tell me now where you’ve hidden it.”

“But I thought—” she started, then broke off, studying him in blank confusion. If Jeremy hadn’t stolen it from her room, who had?

“Why don’t you put the gun down, Cooke?” called a low, steady voice from the entrance to the cave.

Nicholas.

Katya surged to her feet, her linen handkerchief balled tightly in her fist, biting back an urge to shout for him to run. As his gaze moved over her, she watched the relief in his eyes turn to steely determination. He stood unmoving, his powerful form silhouetted in the moonlight, his cape billowing behind him in the wind. In that instant she knew she didn’t have to warn him away. If Jeremy Cooke thought he could go up against Nicholas Duvall and win, he was sadly mistaken.

“Are you all right, Katya?” he asked tersely.

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

Jeremy waved his gun. “Do come in, Nicholas, we’ve been expecting you. Slowly… there. That’s far enough. Back against the wall, please. Now keep your hands where I can see them.”

Katya glanced past Nicholas, looking to the entrance of the cave for Monsieur Chatelain and his men, but she saw no sign of them.

“I was just attempting to convince Katya to reveal the location of her family’s scroll,” said Jeremy. “It means nothing to her now, merely the difference between a quick death and a painful one.”

“Yes, I heard. But you’re a little late, Cooke. The scroll won’t do you any good.”

“You don’t think I’ll be able to find the Stone?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

A small smile curved Nicholas’s mouth. “Because I already have.”

Tense silence filled the cave, then Jeremy’s face slowly darkened with rage. “You’re lying.”

“May I?” Nicholas asked coolly, his hands moving to his belt.

Katya noted immediately that the dirk he had worn earlier was missing. The only item suspended from his belt was the leather pouch she had tried to lift earlier. She watched as he removed it, slowly pulled apart the rawhide strings that secured the top, and upended the contents into his hand.

A magnificent pale-blue diamond filled his palm. The Stone glowed with a shimmering brilliance, as though pulsating with an inner life Incandescent rays of warmth emanated from it and filled the cave with light.

Katya felt her breath catch in her throat. The Stone of Destiny. It really did exist.

“A simple trade,” said Nicholas evenly. “The Stone for Katya.”

Jeremy slowly tore his gaze away from the diamond. “A trade?” He hesitated, as though carefully considering it. Then he said, “I have a better idea. I’ll simply kill you both and take the Stone.”

As Jeremy raised his gun, Katya’s gaze shot to Nicholas. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second—a second that seemed to stretch into infinity. Then everything seemed to happen at once.

Jeremy leveled his gun on Nicholas and drew back the trigger.

Nicholas reached inside his cape, presumably for a weapon of his own.

Katya hurled the balled linen handkerchief at Jeremy’s feet.

The subsequent explosion rocked the interior of the cave, pitching them all to the ground. Flames shot up as Jeremy Cooke’s screams echoed through the thick black smoke that filled the air. She heard the sound of men’s frantic shouts, followed by the sound of boots as they rushed by her. Monsieur Chatelain and his men? But she couldn’t see anything.

As she struggled to rise to her knees she felt Nicholas beside her, pulling her to her feet and out of the cave. His arm wrapped securely around her waist, he tugged her with him across the narrow ledge that led away from the cave. Once they reached the safety of the rocky overlook he released her. They both fell immediately to their knees, coughing and gasping for breath. Katya’s eyes burned and her lungs and throat felt as though they had been stripped raw.

After a long moment he choked out, “Are you all right?”

She swallowed hard and answered in a hoarse voice that she barely recognized as her own, “I’m fine.”

“What the hell was that?”

“A little something I mixed from the bowls I found on the table. Charcoal, brimstone, and saltpeter.”

Nicholas’s eyes widened in surprise, then in glowing approval. “Gunpowder,” he said. “I’d forgotten your flair for drama.”

She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “My father used it once in his show.” She coughed again, then shook her head. “I’m afraid I was a little too generous with it though, wasn’t I?”

Nicholas smiled. His teeth appeared pearly white against the black mask of smoke and ash that coated his skin. “That depends. Were you attempting to knock Cooke to his feet, or flatten a mountain?”

She started laughing, laughing until she couldn’t stop. Laughing until tears were streaming down her face, and then she was crying, and she couldn’t stop that either.

Nicholas gently gathered her into his arms, stroking his hand along her back in slow, soothing motions. “I know,” he murmured against her hair. “I know. I feel exactly the same way.”

Katya studied her face in the looking glass of her bedchamber. The costume the Comtesse had loaned her was ruined, but at least she had managed to remove most of the smoke and ash that had coated her hair and skin. With this accomplished, she could delay no further. Nicholas was waiting for her downstairs. Time to face the music.

Nervous tension filled her as she made her way to the back parlor. She stepped inside, noting that the Comtesse was there as well. As usual, the older woman appeared regal and composed, giving no sign of what she might be feeling inside. Did she know that Katya had been lying to them, intending to steal their scroll since the day she had first arrived in their home?

With that ugly thought reverberating through her mind, she lifted her gaze to Nicholas. Like her, he had removed his smoke-ravaged costume; he wore simple black trousers and a crisp white lawn shirt. Her gaze moved to his face. He looked so handsome, she thought. So… honorable. Regret poured through her and her heart felt as though it were sinking within her chest. How could she ever have suspected him of murder?

He lifted a flask of amber liquid. “Can I pour you a drink?”

For the first time in her life, she felt that she could truly use one. But as comforting as it might be, she preferred a level head. “No, thank you.” He gestured for her to be seated, but she shook her head. Her nerves were too raw for her to sit. “I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded politely. “As you wish.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Finally Katya said, “Have you heard anything about Jeremy Cooke?”

“His legs were burned pretty badly, but he’ll live.”

“Good.” She shook her head helplessly as she looked from Nicholas to the Comtesse. “Perhaps this is wrong of me to say, given all the horrible things he did, but I almost feel sorry for him.”

“I can’t help but share your sentiment, Miss Alexander,” replied the Comtesse. “My brother told me about Louisa, but I never knew there was a child involved. Had I known…” Her words trailed off as she shuddered. “What a ghastly mistake William made by attempting to bury the scandal. No wonder it haunted him for the rest of his life.”

Katya’s curious gaze turned to Nicholas. “What would you have done,” she asked softly, “had you known about Jeremy years ago?”

Nicholas splashed a generous amount of the amber liquid he had offered her into a glass and took a deep swallow. “I don’t know. Something.” He let out a sigh. “Simply knowing the truth would have explained so much. It needn’t have come to this.”

“It’s such a waste,” murmured the Comtesse. “Such a dreadful waste.”

“I—” Katya began, then stopped abruptly, swallowing hard. “I don’t know where to begin.”

Nicholas set down his drink. “Why don’t we start with the basics?”

She cringed at the subtle hint of irony and anger that clung to his words. “Very well,” she managed.

“If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to know your name.” He paused, eyeing her sternly. “Your full name, if you don’t mind.”

“Katya Zofia Rosskaya Alexander.”

“Rosskaya,” he repeated slowly. “Rosskaya. Now that’s interesting. I don’t remember you mentioning that before.”

Not knowing what to say, she remained silent.

“Were you ever planning on telling me who you were?” he asked quietly.

Katya glanced from Nicholas to the Comtesse. Deciding to adhere to a policy of strict honesty, she admitted, “Not originally, no. When you came to me with your proposal that I pose as your mistress, it seemed the perfect opportunity to retrieve the scroll, find the Stone, and settle my parents’ debts. In retrospect the plan seems rather crass, but in my defense I didn’t know you at all—except for what I heard about the DuValentis through my family’s ancient legends.” She gave a wavering smile. “As you might imagine, none of that was very flattering.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, regarding her steadily. “No, I would think not.”

She swallowed hard and rushed on before her courage deserted her completely, “But then I came to know you—and the Comtesse,” she added, sending the older woman a fleeting smile, “and I realized I couldn’t possibly steal the scroll from you.”

“How very comforting.”

“In fact, I nearly told you who I was the day we returned from the Abbey St. Chamas. But you had already left for town and there wasn’t an opportunity before my show. That night, when the accident occurred onstage—”

“You thought I was deliberately trying to kill you?” he interrupted, his brows lifting skyward in astonishment.

“Monsieur Remy told me he saw a man who matched your description earlier that evening by my prop table. I found your cuff link there, so I presumed it had been you. But you told me that you hadn’t been to the theater at all. When I discovered my scroll had been taken from my room…” She lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “What else was I to think?”

“I see.”

She sent him a troubled frown. “But if you didn’t take the scroll from my room, and Jeremy didn’t take it, who did?”

“I did, Miss Alexander,” replied the Comtesse regally.

Katya turned to her in startled surprise. “You did?”

“Yes. Day after day I waited for you to reveal yourself to Nicholas. But you never did. When your foolishness nearly cost you your life, I took the liberty of interceding. But do not think for a moment that I enjoyed playing the part of an interfering old crone. I’ll have you know that that is the last time I shall attempt to save you from yourself.”

“But how did you know?”

“I mentioned earlier that my first husband was an amateur aficionado of medieval lore. He was fascinated by my family’s legacy, and by the Stone of Destiny. To that end, he studied not only our ancient heritage, but that of the other family involved—the Rosskayas. He related to me that the women of that line were gypsies who were renowned for their beauty and their striking coloring: ebony hair and unusual lavender eyes.” She paused, giving Katya a significant glance. “According to his studies, legends foretold that the two families would come together again one day in yet another battle over the Stone. And perhaps, to right the wrong that had taken place centuries earlier.”

“Amazing,” Katya murmured. Then she turned to Nicholas and said, “But you only had one scroll from which to work—mine. How did you find the Stone?”

Nicholas smiled. “One scroll was all I needed. All anyone ever needed.” He turned to the table next to him and took out an ancient piece of parchment. “Come look.”

Katya moved to stand beside him. “That’s my scroll,” she said.

“Correct. And this is the scroll Jeremy Cooke convinced Allyson to steal from my home. As it turns out, he was carrying it on his person Monsieur Chatelain returned it to me shortly after Cooke was arrested.”

As her gaze moved from one scroll to the other, astonishment rose within her. “They’re exactly the same,” she breathed.

“Down to the smallest detail,” he confirmed dryly. “For centuries the puzzle had been where does one scroll begin and the other end? But as it turns out, that was the wrong question. The answer has been right before us the entire time.”

“Rosskaya and DuValenti. The two are as one. Learn this and out of darkness will come light,”
Katya said, quoting the scroll that they had seen at the Abbey.

Nicholas smiled. “Both families have held the key to finding the Stone all along. We just didn’t know it.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” the Comtesse said, rising to her feet. “It’s a shame my first husband is no longer alive. He would have enjoyed that tremendously—a bit of medieval trickery, if you will.” She moved to the door, then turned back and announced imperiously, “Difficult as it may be for you to believe, Miss Alexander, I have been cursed with a romantic heart. I have always believed that our families should put this matter behind us once and for all. To that end, I shall now absent myself and leave the two of you alone to work out the remainder of this tangled mess. But I expect a full and satisfactory resolution by morning.”

Nicholas watched his aunt sweep out of the room, leaving them alone. In the silence that followed, Katya stepped self-consciously away from the scroll, moving across the room to stare blindly at the rows of books that filled the shelves. Beautiful, he thought. But in so many ways still a mystery to him. He watched her wander aimlessly before the bookcase, trying to interpret her expression. Was she nervous? Relieved? Angry? Or did some other emotion capture her mood? Cognizant that she needed a minute to collect her thoughts, he waited patiently for her to return her attention to him.

At last she did. “Why did you bring the Stone to the festival tonight?” she asked.

“I expected to find Richard there,” he replied. He lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “Like you, I had my own theories as to who was behind the theft. I intended to offer him the Stone in return for his promise to leave and never return.”