“Yet he won the girl.” Yuri smiled spitefully. “I presume you had a man playing for her?”
The duke examined his spotless fingernails. “Did he recognize the girl when he entered the game?”
“Even I didn’t know who she was until afterward. Renier had no knowledge of her origins.”
“What drove him, then? Lust?”
“Occasionally his motives escape me, even after eight years.”
“And has she told him who she is?”
Yuri could see no way of avoiding the apparent truth. “She claims not to remember who she is.”
“What?”
“She says her name is Aria, and that she has no memory of her past life.”
“I find that very difficult to believe.”
“Nevertheless, she has resolutely abided by her claim. She behaves nothing like a lady of the New Orleans clan. There is no telling what may have happened to her in the four years since she escaped your tender care.”
The duke stroked his chin. “You have of course told your associate who she is.”
“I haven’t told him that Lucienne is a princess.”
“That was wise of you.” Di Reinardus dropped his hand. “Renier has agreed to your plan to sell the girl to the Reniers?”
“He has. You will not find it so easy to try for her a second time.”
The duke’s fist tightened, digging into Yuri’s skin. “Do you presume to think you can stop me?”
“I presume nothing,” Yuri whispered, no longer able to draw a full breath. “I am…leaving San Francisco.”
“Because you found out I was here?”
There was no need to answer that question. “Monsieur Renier…is no weakling. He—”
“You call him a friend,” the duke said, “yet you would betray him to save your life.”
“For the sake of my life? Yes, I would betray him. I am not an honorable man.”
“True enough.” The duke released him again. “But you will certainly be useful to me, honorable or not.”
Yuri straightened his collar. “And what recompense will I receive for risking my life against my former colleague?”
The blow caught Yuri full across the mouth. “You said it yourself,” di Reinardus said. “Your life.”
Yuri wiped the blood from his lips. “Is that all?”
The duke examined his right glove for rips. “You are not indispensable to me, Chernikov. Never forget that fact.”
There was no doubt as to what Yuri ought to do now. Grovel on his belly and beg for mercy. But his blood was running hot with the pride of Russia’s ancient aristocracy. He had not forgotten what he had been, what he might become again. He was Gunther’s equal in birth and breeding. He would not cower like a slave. Not this time.
“I cannot simply take the girl from him,” he said. “He defeated your mongrels handily. He could kill me as easily as you can.”
Gunther’s face was granite sheathed in ice. “You will have to choose, Baron, whose wrath you prefer to provoke—mine or Renier’s. If you make the error of telling him of our little discussion, you will not have another opportunity to make the same mistake.”
Yuri probed a loose tooth with his tongue, checking his rage behind a soft voice. “What do you want me to do?”
“You need only continue to keep Renier’s trust. I will let you know when I need you.”
Then the duke turned and disappeared into the fog. Yuri fingered his neck. He knew he would have bruises there for days to come, and he would have to hide them from Cort. He couldn’t afford to lie about how he’d come by them.
For he had no doubt that Gunther di Reinardus would be watching him. Watching him and Cort and the girl. Having been defeated once, the duke would not take immediate action. He would wait patiently for the right moment to strike again.
The Russian language had many excellent words for cursing, and Yuri used them all as he walked out of the alley. Just as Gunther had said, he would have to decide, knowing full well that the duke would use him again without paying for his “loyalty.” Di Reinardus might even find it convenient to destroy his tool once it had ceased to be useful.
Cort wouldn’t so easily turn on Yuri, even if Yuri admitted something of the truth. But Yuri knew he was a hopeless coward. If he was lucky, he might aid Cort a little longer before he surrendered to the necessities of self-preservation.
THE PALACE HOTEL was a marvel of architecture and elegance. Aria knew it because Cort had told her so. But it was not the outer edifice, rising seven stories above Market Street, that impressed her most. When the carriage entered the Grand Court and stopped behind the other vehicles, each with its cargo of ladies and gentlemen, she couldn’t help but gape. At one end of the court stood dozens of potted plants the likes of which she’d never seen before, with broad, waxy leaves curving gracefully toward the floor. A band was playing just out of sight, and fountains bubbled on every side of the courtyard.
When she had come by train from New York to San Francisco, she had found shelter wherever she could while the other passengers went to hotels near the station. She hadn’t been able to see inside them, but from the way they had looked on the outside, she doubted they were this grand.
“Aria.”
She glanced at Cort, half-dazed. He stood outside the open carriage door, offering a gloved hand with an impatient gesture. He was wearing a brand-new suit he had bought to replace the one that had been ruined during the fight, and he looked as handsome, as elegant, as ever. Though she had never seen him wearing anything but a gentleman’s clothes, he seemed like a stranger to her. As strange as this foreign world she would have to learn to understand.
Trying and failing to crush the gnawing doubt that refused to go away, Aria tugged free the hem of her cloak, which had caught on the carriage seat, and hopped down. Cort pulled the wide brim of her hat lower over her eyes, adjusted the cloak around her shoulders and tilted her chin up with his fingertip.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
But now that she was on her feet again, she wasn’t quite so certain. She felt as if she were standing in one of the vast cathedrals Franz had once described, in this cavernous space with tier upon tier of white-columned balconies from which guests looked down, appearing hardly larger than ants. The ceiling above the court was made of glass, and sunlight streamed down with a soothing warmth that almost eased her fear.
Almost. She fingered the shiny clasp Cort had given her along with the cloak, wishing she were back in the old boardinghouse in her shirt and trousers. The much-mended dress chafed her skin. Cort had said she had to wear the cloak to cover it up, because where they were going people would notice her too much if she went just as she was.
I don’t care if they notice me, she thought. But as she watched the men and women parading through the wide, glass-paned doors that led into the hotel proper, she knew she did care. Because Cort did.
He had called her beautiful.
“Remember,” he said, offering his arm, “keep your hat low, and let me do the talking.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she mumbled, hooking her arm through the crook of his elbow and hoping he wouldn’t feel her shaking.
Cort strolled along as if he had always lived in this place, tipping his hat to the ladies and nodding to the gentlemen. Aria shut out the overwhelming sights and smells, and remembered the things he had told her before they left the boardinghouse for good.
“You will need to become reaccustomed to the finer things in life,” he’d said, as she’d tucked the last of her new belongings into a carpet bag. “The Reniers of New Orleans are wealthy and spare no expense in their luxuries. They are highly educated, and wear clothing designed and made by the best English and Parisian tailors. They have considerable power and influence in politics and commerce, and they own large blocks of the best real estate in the city. They move in the highest circles of society.”
“With other werewolves?” Aria had asked.
> “Most of their dealings are with the human elite. Of course they don’t display their dual natures except among a select few.” He had given her a very serious, almost admonishing look. “If you are to present yourself as their lost kin, you must be what they expect you to be.”
It was the same lecture he’d given her when he had thought he would find her family in San Francisco, but worse. It didn’t matter how long she’d been missing or where she’d been. The Reniers might not accept her if she didn’t have all the graces demanded by good society.
She would need proper speech, proper manners and pride to go along with her position.
“Maybe I don’t want them if they don’t want me the way I am,” she had said.
Cort had caught her under the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Would you live the rest of your life in the gutter, with no money and no prospects, when you could have every comfort for the rest of your life?” His mouth twisted. “Believe me, Aria. Such comforts are few and far between for most in this world. To reject them would be the height of folly.”
She’d wondered if that were really true. The Reniers were wealthy, and she knew money was very important in the world outside the mountains. She supposed that she and Franz had been poor, but she had never lacked for anything she needed: food, shelter, clothing—even a pony.
If I stayed with Cort, she’d thought, it wouldn’t matter if I was rich or “proper.”
The idea was so startling that she didn’t dare follow where it led. She’d said the first thing that popped into her head.
“Would your family expect me to be perfect?”
He’d given her a narrow glance, as if he had never expected such a question. “My family…they are not as powerful as the New Orleans Reniers.” His lip twitched again. “They would expect…” He trailed off, staring at the carpetbag with no expression at all. “You belong to the New Orleans Reniers, and their opinion is all that should concern you.”
She hadn’t dared to ask any more questions, and he’d gone on to tell her about the Palace and the “safe” place outside San Francisco to which they would soon be traveling. That was where her lessons would begin.
“It is in the mountains and will provide a change of scenery for you,” Cort had said. “In the meantime you’ll have a taste of your future at the Palace.”
And now she was getting her taste. She gripped Cort’s arm as they walked through the tall doors into a large room where people were milling about and many voices talked all at the same time. There were men and boys in clothes that all looked the same, rushing around with every kind of bag and trunk.
Cort pulled Aria along and stopped at a long table, where he spoke with one of the several men stationed there. He pulled out his wallet and gave the man money. The man gave him two keys in return, smiled at Aria and signaled to one of the uniformed boys. The boy took their two carpetbags, and soon they were walking across the big room, through another set of doors and into a hallway. Cort stopped before a grilled gate, and the boy slid it open.
Behind it was a tiny room, and at first Aria was afraid to go in. She had never liked small places. But Cort gave her a gentle push, and they joined another boy inside the box. The second boy pulled a lever. The floor lurched under Aria’s feet. She gasped, and the first boy smiled apologetically.
“Many of our guests are surprised by our hydraulic elevator,” the boy said. “It was the first one installed in San Francisco. I assure you that it is perfectly safe.”
Aria glanced wildly at Cort as the “elevator” began to shake and vibrate, but he didn’t look at all worried. She felt her legs turn rubbery, and the sense of motion became stronger. It seemed to take forever before the elevator stopped with a little bump, and the second boy slid open the grill. It opened onto another hallway, wide enough for two people to walk abreast and decorated with more potted plants.
“Your floor, sir,” the boy with the lever said. Cort tossed him a coin and followed the first boy into the hall. They stopped again at another door, and when it opened, Aria could only stare.
“Anna,” Cort said, gesturing her ahead of him.
They had agreed to go on using that name in public. She was still convinced there must have been a reason that Franz had insisted she keep the name “Aria” hidden.
She walked into the room. The boy and Cort followed her, and the boy set their bags down on a low table between two chairs and a couch that was itself shaped like a very long chair. He waited while Cort gave him a coin, and then left with a bow.
“Well?” Cort asked.
He was asking how she felt, but she still didn’t know. She wandered around the room, pausing to examine the couch and its heaps of velvet pillows, several tables holding vases with bunches of flowers and the intricately patterned carpet. A door led off from one side of the main room. Hesitantly, Aria opened it. A huge bed dominated the smaller room. A lacy canopy hung over it, white and delicate. The furniture, pretty as it was, looked as though it would break if she used it.
“This is your bedroom,” Cort said behind her.
“But it’s much too big! I don’t need—”
“Everything will be different from now on, Aria. It would be best if you accept that quickly.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“In the room next door, with Yuri.”
In a place like this, so strange and different from anything she’d ever known, that seemed very far away.
“I wish you would stay here,” she said softly.
His body went as stiff as a shepherd’s crook. “That will not be possible. A lady does not share her accommodations with a man to whom she is not—”
“But we did share accommodations at the boardinghouse.”
“This is different.” Cort cleared his throat. “You are soon to rejoin your family, and they would not approve. There are certain rules.”
Rules. Always more rules. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“When Madame Martin arrives, she can…”
Aria was fascinated to see the reddish color come up into his face.
“I’ll ask her to explain,” he finished.
“Does it have something to do with what those other men would have done to me if they had won me instead?”
“Aria! You know—”
“I know that people mate the same way animals do. It looked as if the men enjoyed it, but it didn’t look as if the women did.”
Cort grew redder still. “Where…where did you see this, Aria?”
“In the alleys away from the big streets, usually when it was dark. They were always in a hurry.”
Cort pulled at his collar. “That was not… Aria, what you saw—”
“Have you ever done it?”
It didn’t seem possible that Cort could turn even redder than he already had, but he did. “Aria, this is not a fit conversation between us.”
“You wouldn’t try to do those things to me if I didn’t want to, would you?”
“No! Aria—”
“Then if you wouldn’t hurt me, why should my family care?”
He pulled at his collar with such force that one of the little fastenings popped off. “This conversation is over, Aria.”
But the thought wouldn’t go away. Cort might never try to do those things with her, or hurt anyone he did do them with, but if men enjoyed the act so much, he must have done it.
She had felt very good when he had held her in his arms. Would joining with him that way feel as nice?
Kissing the way she’d seen the villagers do would surely be very nice indeed. She looked into his eyes and stood up on her toes, breathing in his scent. His mouth was so close, his body so warm. If only…
Cort hopped back as if she had poured snow into his trousers. He raked his hand through his hair and went to the window, pushing the heavy curtains aside to look down at the street far below.
“Yuri will be arriving soon,” he said, his words coming quickly. “I’ll be going out again.
You do understand that you must stay in this room unless one of us escorts you?”
She could see he was going to pretend they hadn’t spoken at all since they’d come into the room, and she began to wish she really had poured snow down his trousers.
“I understand,” she said. “I’m to be a prisoner again.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
CORT GLANCED IN her direction and quickly looked away. “Must we have this discussion again?” he said.
“No. I understand.”
“Bien. And don’t answer the door unless you’re sure it’s one of us.”
“I won’t.” She tugged at a ribbon at the front of her bodice, nearly pulling it loose. “How long do we have to stay here?”
He let the curtain fall and leaned against the wall, arms crossed and brows drawn.
“Until Madame Martin arrives, as you very well know.” The set of his jaw made it clear that he would not be pushed any further. “As soon as Yuri returns, he’ll have a meal sent up to you. Follow his instructions at all times.”
Cort was silent after that, and Aria couldn’t get him to talk again. After a while Yuri came and Cort went out. Yuri ordered the promised meal, which she ignored.
While he thumbed through a book, no more interested in conversation than Cort had been, Aria engaged herself with the magazines Cort had bought on the way to the hotel. The Delineator, Woman’s Home Companion and Harper’s Bazaar were filled with color fashion drawings, which Aria examined with a skeptical eye. Nothing about the pictures, pretty as they were, made “modern” fashion seem any more attractive to her. There were articles about cooking and cleaning and all sorts of other things “proper” women did that she couldn’t bear to read, because they only confused her more. She didn’t see how she could ever be like the ladies in those pages.
She threw down her magazine and glared at the pages sprawled open on the carpet. She could still change her mind, couldn’t she? Forget her family and try to become what she wasn’t?
After all Cort has done for you? He’d bought her things, protected her, cared for her, and it seemed all she’d done was make it more difficult for him by complaining and questioning everything. He was so often irritated with her now, and yet he had never suggested that she find someone else to help her.
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