“It takes one to know one. Yes, you’re right. We’re in the same boat as love slaves.”
“What’s this about boats?”
“Never mind.” He rubbed his thumbs across the backs of her hands, doing a little seducing of his own. “So you don’t want to depend on me.”
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’m not one of your rescue missions. I’m not a child you can adopt. Where do I fit into your life?”
“I don’t think there’s any point in discussing this until you’re established in this country as a permanent citizen. How can you know what you want until then?”
“I want a bookstore. With a coffee machine and comfortable chairs and lamps in one corner, and a stereo that plays pleasant music to read by. I want my own home to come back to every night with a cat that purrs when it sees me and a dog that wags its tail.”
“I’ve always planned to invest in a bookstore. And I think I’d like to have a dog. I had a dog once, when I was little. A champion Afghan. I got to pet it every morning when the trainer took it for a walk. Yes, a dog would be nice, as long as you didn’t want a trainer with it. Cats don’t impress me one way or the other—my mother had a Persian. Lady Alison of Gallantree, and she was only entertaining because she’d upchuck fur balls on the maid’s bed.”
“And how did you know what the cat did on the maid’s bed?”
“I had an interest in housework, I was fourteen at the time. Housework fascinated me.”
“She taught you a great deal about it, did she?”
“Fur balls?”
“Beds.”
“She was plump and cuddly.”
“The maid?”
“No, the cat.”
Elena lowered her head beside his and bit his ear. “You love to manipulate a conversation, don’t you?”
“Ouch. Yes. So … a bookstore, a dog, a cat, and a home. No problem. You can certainly consider this your home. I’m awfully glad we settled all that. I’m getting sleepy.”
“Audubon, why haven’t you married?”
Silence settled between them. He wanted the strained yet teasing mood to continue, but it had fallen like a soufflé. He wanted to tell her he had never considered marriage a worthwhile institution before he met her. But that discussion would have to wait until Kash’s problem was settled. He wouldn’t make promises he might not be alive to keep. And she might not want them anyway. “Not everyone is qualified to be married. In fact, damned few people are any good at it.”
“Then all this talk about pets and bookstores is not a marriage proposal?”
“No. But it’s an offer of genuine love and my way of telling you that I don’t want you to leave me.”
“I see. I’ll have to think about it. So much has happened to me in the last few weeks. My whole life has changed.”
“And you’re not certain if anything you feel right now is going to last.”
“I didn’t say ‘I love you,’ because I was confused. And I didn’t mean that I love you if you marry me, or give me a bookstore.”
“It’s the dog and cat you’re negotiating for, then,” he joked weakly.
Her hands cooled. She pulled them away and got up from the couch. Audubon felt the whole conversation had gone badly, but for now he could only let explanations lay dormant. She scrutinized his face while frowning sadly. “I want to come out of hiding. It’s time I went to your State Department and asked for asylum.”
“Soon, but not now.”
“Why are we waiting?”
“It’s not safe yet. Be patient.”
“You have reasons you won’t admit.”
“I want to protect you. More than ever.” He got up, the silk oriental robe riding his shoulders like a mantle of lead. He felt a hundred years old. He felt cruel for keeping secrets from her. He knew he couldn’t use her future to save his son’s, so the only future he had left to bargain with was his own. He wanted all of her memories of him to be wonderful.
“I would rather die than let anything bad happen to you,” he whispered. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
She grasped the front of his robe and stared up at him with fear in her eyes. “Don’t say such things! Why do you have to be so melodramatic? You belong in a dark play by Chekhov!”
In a quick, powerful sequence of moves that caught her off guard, he swung her sideways, bent, scooped his arms under her, and picked her up. “I love you and I only want the best for you,” he told her. “Men aren’t nearly as good with words as women are, so all I can do is show you.”
He carried her upstairs, but not to his suite. Instead he went to hers, and stopped outside. His throat was raw; his eyes had a grainy feel. Lack of sleep. Not emotion. He wouldn’t let himself cry from worry and frustration, or even desperate love. He never had before and he was too old to start now.
“I don’t make ugly demands on the people I love. You need time to realize that. Do you want to stay in your own room for now?”
“Yes.”
He put her down and she went inside immediately, one hand cupped over her mouth as if she were about to cry. He went back to his own suite, almost stumbling with fatigue, loneliness throbbing painfully in his head. He was trapped in a lifetime of solitude, and he wondered if he’d found Elena too late. He had asked her to accept too much on faith.
Dawn made pale borders around the heavy drapes in his bedroom, giving the room a gray, cool light that seemed like emptiness incarnate. Audubon sat on the side of the bed, avoiding the moment when he’d have to lay down in the happily jumbled covers scented with crushed flower petals and passion. He rubbed his face harshly and tried to will his emotions back into the tidy vault inside him where they belonged.
From the front room came the soft rattle of the door latch. He walked in just as Elena slowly shut the doors behind her. She grew still and looked at him with faltering dignity that reminded him of his own. “How could such a lovely day turn into such a mess?” she whispered.
“Too much emotion floating around, I suppose. Some of it was bound to get misdirected.”
“In America, is it common for two people who love each other to run off to separate bedrooms when they’re upset?”
“I can only tell you that it was common for my parents.” But they didn’t love each other.
“They had too many bedrooms then.”
He nodded. Lord, am I blindly repeating their worst mistakes? “I didn’t want you to go. But I’m asking you to put aside too many questions. You can’t really trust me right now. I understand.”
“Trust, my love, is something I don’t give and take back easily. I may be angry with you sometimes, but I believe in your goodness. I’ve felt it inside me, I’ve heard it in your voice, watched it in your actions, seen it in your eyes.”
He couldn’t answer. He simply held out a hand. She came over quickly and wrapped it in loving warmth. They walked to the bedroom and undressed in silence. She helped him smooth the covers and straighten the pillows. She got into bed first and pulled the covers up, then held them open for him to slide in beside her.
He put his head on her shoulder and sighed when she gently stroked his hair and face. When she touched his damp cheek, she smoothed the moisture into her fingertips as if his tears were the most precious gift he could offer.
Nine
The clink of fine silver and the scent of sweet, warm bread woke her, and just as her eyes opened she realized she had slept with none of the restlessness she’d known all her life. The emotional confrontation before dawn seemed like a shadow that had faded with the night. It might return later, but she pushed it out of her mind for now. Her body felt pleasantly heavy, as if the muscles were soaked with relaxation.
“Good afternoon,” Audubon whispered, kissing the tip of her nose. He was sitting beside her, one updrawn leg pressed cozily against her hip. She glanced down, wishing the covers and his crisp tan trousers didn’t separate his skin from hers.
With the trousers he wore a white polo shirt with a tiny gold
griffin stitched on the left breast. The shirt was custom-made, she knew, because he’d explained that all his clothes were created for him by an exclusive men’s shop in England. The griffin came from the Audubon family crest.
A belt of fine, woven leather with a slender gold buckle circled his waist. His silver hair was glossy with brushing, every strand in its regal place. His hand, as he stroked his fingers down her cheek, carried the faint trace of some expensive cologne and a sweet citrus fragrance. She decided not to comment on the purple shadows under his eyes, or the emotional distress etched in his face. She was worried about him and their situation, but she felt that talking about it might only make them both feel worse. She let herself float in his affectionate gaze. “You, sir, are a feast for my senses. But why are you fully dressed and out of bed, while I’m naked and most definitely in bed, waiting?”
His soft chuckle added to the sensual provocation. “I have a meeting downstairs in five minutes. I brought you breakfast.”
She glanced at the silver teapot and china cup on the nightstand. Also on the small silver tray was a bowl of strawberries and cream, plus a plate filled with muffins covered in orange marmalade.
Elena took his orange-spiced fingers and kissed them. “I’ve never had breakfast in bed before. It’s a very decadent American custom. Let’s do it often.”
“I look forward to it.”
She reached over and ran a finger through the marmalade, then dabbed it to the center of his lips. He licked her fingertip, and his green eyes turned dark with intensity. But he clasped her willful hand and shook his head. “If I gave into temptation, I’d be here for hours.”
“I’m afraid so. I’d tie you to a bedpost.”
“I’d let you.”
“Perhaps I’d just tie you to me.”
“I’d let you.”
She sighed. “Go to your meeting before I wrap my arms around your knees and refuse to let go.”
“Now that could be interesting.” He groaned in exasperation. “I wish I hadn’t overslept, but it’s your fault.”
“I was minding my own business.”
“You were breathing against my ear. I kept dreaming we were at the ocean. You were part of the tide. It was seductive, all that coming in and going out.”
“I’d love to indulge your dream. I want to go back to the ocean. I’d never seen one before I came to America. Looking at it made me feel there were no boundaries in the world.”
“Well go, then. I’ll take you to beaches so beautiful, you can’t imagine them.”
“I’d love it.” She cupped her hand along his face, caressing his cheek. “You really have to go downstairs this minute?”
“Afraid so. It’s important.”
She fought off the feeling of dull dread in her stomach. “The meeting’s about your son?”
“Yes. Some of the men you met the other night are here to discuss his problem. This is one time when I’m asking for their help as friends, not former employees.”
She hesitated, wondering if he were any less reluctant to trust her with his work. Elena had avoided asking questions because not asking was easier than being hurt by his secrecy. “Ask,” he coaxed, reading her face with disturbing ease. “It’s all right.”
“What sort of work is Kash doing in Mexico?”
“He went to find the wife and children of an archaeologist who died recently.”
“Forgive me—what is an archaeologist?”
“A scientist who studies the things left behind by ancient civilizations.”
“Ah. You knew this scientist personally?”
“Yes. Dr. Juarez and I met in college. We’d been friends for more than twenty years.”
“Oh, Audubon, I’m sorry he died. How did it happen?”
“He was shot while working alone at a project site. Murdered. He’d learned that a wealthy businessman was looting the ancient art treasures for a private collection. He was about to go to the police.”
“You sent Kash to help his family?”
“Yes, to make certain they got out of the country. Kash accomplished that easily, but then he couldn’t resist investigating the murder.” Audubon smiled sadly, but with fierce pride glinting in his eyes. “I’m afraid I encouraged him to be too independent. He was supposed to leave the investigation to me. He didn’t.” Audubon drew a finger down one of her breasts and gently stroked the nipple. His distracted expression told her his thoughts were in Mexico, with his adopted son. His touch seemed to seek solace in her softness and warmth.
“He wanted to protect you?” she asked gently, thinking that Kash Santelli probably loved his adopted father very much, and with good reason.
“Yes. The businessman involved has a nasty reputation for revenge.”
“Why would he want revenge against you?”
“I helped to destroy his son.”
Her hands rose to her face in shock. “You mean his son died because of you?”
Audubon nodded. “Indirectly. He committed suicide rather than be exposed for what he was—a kidnapper and a spy. Remember Sara Surprise? Kyle’s wife?”
The pretty elf with the strawberry-blond hair. Her husband, with his terrible scars. “Yes.”
“She was one of the people he had kidnapped. That was before she met Kyle. She’s a biologist. A researcher. Later I’ll explain why she was kidnapped, but I don’t have time now.” He paused, grimacing. “The man who kidnapped her was responsible for Kyle’s scars.”
“And he was a spy on top of all that? Who did he work for?”
Audubon stroked her arm. “The Soviets.”
Elena’s horror made her turn away, pressing her fingertips over her mouth. Tears burned her eyes. “I see why you never wanted to discuss all this with me before. Is his father—the man who threatens Kash, now—is he a Soviet spy too?”
“Miguel de Valdivia? No, darling, he’s just your garden-variety greedy bastard. Elena, come here.” He pulled her into his arms and stroked her bare back. “There are plenty of self-serving, despicable people in the world. Your country has no monopoly on them. Don’t take it personally.”
“I’ll feel dirty by association if that man does something terrible to Kash.”
“Don’t even think like that. This vendetta isn’t about government intrigues; it’s about fathers and sons. Kash has disappeared in Mexico. I don’t doubt he’s capable of taking care of himself, and I’ve sent some of my best people there to help him. He may just be in hiding. I’m still trying to find out.”
She drew back and looked at him miserably. “I’m afraid for you.”
“My dear dove, this crafty old fox has survived the hunt too many times to be outsmarted now.” But then he kissed her deeply, pouring much more emotion into it than he had put into his words.
Breathing roughly, wanting to cry but adamant that she wouldn’t, Elena tilted her forehead against his and shut her eyes. “When Kash is safely home, you’ll have to introduce us.”
“Of course. But he won’t believe it, you know.”
“Believe what?”
“That you beat me at checkers. I’ll tell him you cheated.”
“Oh, you!” She gave a hollow imitation of a laugh and shooed him off the bed. He walked to the bedroom door and paused, looking back with a sad, yearning expression that stabbed her.
“A wonderful new life is ahead of you,” he said. “I hope it makes up for all those years at the institute.”
She nodded, forcing herself not to admit what she was screaming inside: Don’t talk as if I’ll be going on without you.
She floated in his arms. Above them, the glass roof of the pool house showed a universe of stars. The night sky came right down through the glass and hovered around them, seeming to be careful not to creep too close to the cluster of candles by the pool’s edge. The water reflected blue light and made the pool into a fantasy daytime shy. She felt protected by the shimmering light. Infinite amounts of time were locked in the light, the warm water, and Audubon’s t
ouch.
He cradled her in water so deep that when she leaned her head on his shoulder, the water lapped against her chin. She put her arms around his neck and turned her face toward the crook of his neck, then kissed the hollow of taut muscle just above his collarbone. For a moment she looked beyond the edge of the pool, where all of their clothes were jumbled together on a wicker chaise longue. “You’re certain that Bernard won’t be coming by to ask if we’d like after-dinner coffee, or anything else?”
“Bernard, my dear dove, has been politely instructed to scram for the night.”
“Scram?”
“Vamoose. Take a powder. Beat it. Go away.”
“I hope he doesn’t bruise himself.”
She felt the pull of Audubon’s smile against her temple. “He’s in his apartment.”
“Oh. Very good.”
“He and Clarice are probably playing footsie by now.”
“What kind of game is that?”
“Well, in the case of Bernard and Clarice, I imagine that it involves one set of very dignified toes and one set of very naughty ones.”
“Are you saying they’re lovers?”
“Yes, they have been for several years. You’d never know it by watching them together during the day, would you?”
“No! They’re extremely formal with each other.”
“I walked into the library once and saw Clarice tickling him.”
“What was Bernard doing?”
“Saying in his most solemn British-butler accent, ‘Really, now, you she-beast, really.’ But he was grinning. Not smiling. Grinning. I wanted to take a picture so I could show it to the rest of the staff, as proof that he has teeth.”
Elena chuckled. “You adore both him and Clarice.”
“Yes. I wish I’d had grandparents like them.”
She smoothed a finger down his throat and into the silky, matted hair of his chest. Ah, she thought, his family mysteries. Trying to sound casual, she asked, “What were your grandparents like?”
“My father’s parents didn’t enjoy children, so whenever they visited I was shuttled off to another part of the house. I only remember their cheeks and their checks.”
The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove Page 15
