Luck of the Wolf

by Susan Krinard

  Cort got to his feet. “Your behavior toward Madame Martin is unacceptable,” he said. “I was under the impression that you were friends, but regardless of your past relationship, I will tolerate no more of this disrespect.”

  “Or what?” Yuri said with a mocking smile. “You’ll challenge me to a duel?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Babette said with a sweet smile. “I have always known Baron Chernikov had a foul temper.”

  “Ha,” Yuri muttered.

  Cort inclined his head to Babette. “Merci, madame,” he said. “If you are quite certain…”

  “I trust your judgment with regard to this Brecht. In any case…” She shrugged eloquently. “I have lived far too dull an existence since I left New Orleans.”

  “You will be recompensed for this additional service.”

  She lifted her glass to him. They, at least, seemed to understand each other well enough, but Yuri continued to burn up the room with his stare.

  “Let us assume,” the Russian said, “that Brecht’s men, should they follow, do leave the train immediately upon discovering that they have been led astray. What then?”

  “Once you’re certain they’ve gone,” Cort said, “you will continue south a few more stops, leave the train and make arrangements to join us in Sacramento.”

  Yuri said nothing more, and after a while Babette rose gracefully and excused herself. Yuri sat down again and fingered the stem of his wineglass, spinning it around and around in its puddle of condensation.

  “I have my own proposition to make,” he said at last. “I will take Aria, and you will go with Babette. Brecht is more likely to follow you if he believes Babette is Lucienne.”

  “Do you think I hadn’t considered that?” Cort said. “The fact remains that the one most in danger is Aria herself. Can you best a loup-garou in a fight? You’re far more likely to face the threat of harm if you are with her, and you will not be in a position to defend her.”

  “There was a time when you would have done anything to avoid a fight yourself.”

  Cort remembered the fierce joy that had come over him for the brief time he had fought the men in the saloon—before he’d had the sense to be disgusted with himself. “I will, of course, do what is necessary.” He caught Yuri’s gaze. “I would almost believe that you consider Brecht a much greater threat than you have indicated. Is there something else you should be telling me?”

  “Nyet.” Yuri rose. “I presume you will inform the girl of our plan. I will await further instruction.”

  He bowed with mocking formality and walked out of the room, leaving Cort to brood over what the Russian had said. There was no risk. Perhaps he should show his confidence by abandoning the plan altogether.

  But if there was even a one-in-a-thousand chance that someone would come after them…

  Cort growled at his own foolishness. He’d made sure of Brecht’s men. They wouldn’t dare make a move on the German’s behalf. It was over.

  THEY PUT THE ESCAPE PLAN into effect the next morning. Aria had vociferously protested the whole affair, unwilling to pretend to fight with Cort in public and determined to persuade them to abandon the masquerade. Madame Martin had gently but firmly convinced her that the plan, however flawed, was their best course.

  In spite of her doubts, Aria proved to be an excellent actress, so convincing that Cort himself half believed that she hated him. They staged the performance in the hearing of several hotel employees, not quite public but effective enough. The argument was left deliberately vague, so that the eavesdroppers couldn’t be sure of the reason for the fight.

  When Aria went with Yuri, parting from Cort and Babette in a flurry of feigned curses and threats, Babette returned to her room, where she put on one of Aria’s dresses, saturated with her subtle scent. Aria, in turn, wore Babette’s simplest gown. Both women were to wear hats with veils of heavy netting.

  Yuri and Babette “departed” the hotel a short time later. Cort made a show of anger at their betrayal in front of the boy who came to take his bags, while Aria remained hidden. Cort had already purchased tickets for the steamboat departing for Sacramento from Pier Three. They would disembark at a point along the Sacramento River and continue by train.

  They reached the pier without incident, and by the time they boarded the boat, Cort had abandoned any last-minute concerns. Aria said very little as they crossed a string of bays and entered the river. Only when they changed over to the train and found their seats did she speak again.

  “I’m sorry I had to shout at you,” she said.

  “You did just as you we asked to do,” Cort said, not quite able to forget the fire and loathing in Aria’s eyes when she had played her part with such apparent enthusiasm.

  “I hated it,” she said. She looked up, anxiety plain in her eyes. “Do you think Yuri and Babette are all right?”

  “I have no doubt of it.”

  “But Madame Martin…I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “She is in no danger.”

  She searched Cort’s face. “I like her very much. You like her, too.”

  Cort shifted uncomfortably. “I respect her,” he said. “She is an intelligent woman who understands the world as it is.”

  “Do you like her…better than me?”

  Good God. Aria was jealous. He’d thought her attitude toward Babette had been unusually defiant, but he hadn’t considered all the possible implications of her behavior.

  He’d been a damned fool not to, after their very uncomfortable conversation in the hotel room. What was going through that busy little head of hers? She’d asked him if he’d ever done “it.” Could she possibly think he’d had sexual relations with Babette?

  He groaned silently. One moment he was convinced Aria was entirely ignorant of the most basic aspects of male and female relationships, and the next that she understood everything all too well.

  The train rocked sharply, and Cort’s stomach rattled with it. “I am saddened that you feel it necessary to ask that question, Anna,” he said, barely remembering to use her public name.

  Aria sank down in her seat and tucked her chin against her chest. Cort was greatly relieved that she wasn’t inclined to continue the conversation, but the relief didn’t last. She was so close that their arms touched, and Babette’s slightly perfumed scent was giving way to Aria’s very natural but alluring fragrance.

  Like Babette better than Aria? A beautiful, charming, sophisticated woman over this…this…

  This equally beautiful, honest, fearless, extraordinary girl.

  “We will be in Sacramento soon,” he said abruptly. “The hotel we’ll stay in is modest, on the edge of town, but I don’t expect to be there long. We will wait for Yuri and Babette, and then go on to the mountains.”

  Even the thought of new surroundings far away from the city didn’t seem to cheer Aria. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the seat back in front of her.

  “Would you…” She swallowed audibly. “Would you be very disappointed if…if things didn’t go as we plan?”

  The question was entirely unexpected. Cort sat up in his seat. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I mean if—” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “I mean if I don’t turn out the way you want me to? If I can’t be a lady?”

  Only her usual fears after all. “What makes you ask now, Anna?”

  She shuffled her feet. “Madame Martin is so elegant. I don’t see how I can ever be like her.”

  “Madame Martin is very sure of you. And so am I.”

  Her eyes were too bright, as if she were close to weeping. Something hard and painful settled in Cort’s throat. She was unhappy, and he was responsible.

  When he’d first spoken of her family, she’d seemed excited enough, or at least pleased at the prospect of being reunited with them. When had that changed? Had she lost her enthusiasm when he’d rejected her tentative advances?

  He thought through her questions again, the on
es probing into his past and the state of his wallet. She had asked if they could go to his family instead of the New Orleans Reniers. Her ignorance would have been amusing if it hadn’t been so sad. As if the bayou Reniers would have anything to give her.

  As if he did.

  “You have nothing more to be afraid of, I promise you,” he said.

  “But if…if I couldn’t do it…would you be very disappointed?”

  He permitted himself to pat her hand. “You won’t disappoint me.”

  The reassurance didn’t seem to help. Aria continued to stare out the window, presenting a blank surface he couldn’t penetrate.

  That was all to the good, wasn’t it? If she kept her distance, he could keep his. If she felt uncertain about him, about herself, she wouldn’t approach him with her innocent desire.

  His cock began to harden. If it were not for that innocence, he might have given her what they both wanted. He would take great care with her, unlike most other men.

  If only…

  An idea came into his head, both terrible and enticing. He glanced at Aria, who was pretending to sleep. So easy, and so satisfying. He could cause even more humiliation to the Reniers, satisfy Aria and enjoy himself in the process. It would be the work of minutes to seduce her once the setting was right.

  He muffled a groan. No matter what she thought she wanted, he was still responsible for her. And in spite of recent lapses, he was still a gentleman.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the roar and rattle of the train, the stale and smoky smell of the air, anything but the woman beside him.

  His all-too-vivid imagination haunted him all the way to Sacramento.

  “WE’RE LEAVING.”

  Babette shot Yuri a quizzical glance. “Of course we are leaving,” she said. “Isn’t that the plan?”

  Yuri cursed as he hurried her toward the Ferry House. The boat was filling quickly, and the raised hairs at the back of his neck refused to lie flat.

  “We are leaving California,” he said. “Permanently.”

  She stopped. “Excusez moi?”

  He tugged her into motion again. “You heard me.”

  Her strength was far greater than her petite frame suggested. She dug in her heels and refused to be budged again. “What madness is this?” she demanded.

  “No madness.” He looked right and left, his unease stronger than ever. “We have no time to waste.”

  “We have time, mon ami,” she said, “for I will not go one step farther until you explain yourself.”

  With an explosive breath, Yuri took her arm again and led her away from the surging crowd. Only once they were situated in the shade of the overhanging roof of a dockside building did he let her go.

  “It is simple,” he said, striving to calm both his voice and his racing heart. “I do not believe that Brecht has given up.”

  Babette peered into his eyes. “You make no sense, Yuri. Monsieur Renier said you told him that Brecht was only a mercenary and would cause no more trouble.”

  “Cort may believe he knows everything, but that arrogance will be his downfall.”

  “His downfall?” Babette seized his arm. “Yuri, what do you mean?”

  Yuri shivered involuntarily. Ever since he and Aria had staged their fight with Cort, he had been considering how much he dared tell Babette. That she still felt affection for him was beyond doubt. As tough as she was under that beautiful facade—and in spite of his poor treatment of her in the past—he knew he could easily manipulate her by showing her even a little affection in return.

  But she was not stupid, nor would she accept an implausible explanation. It was too late to tell himself now what a serious mistake he had made in inviting her to be a part of the scheme he and Cort had devised.

  “I knew Brecht,” Yuri said heavily. “I had some dealings with the less savory side of New Orleans society, as you may remember.” He hesitated, then made the leap. “He is the man who kidnapped Lucienne Renier.”

  It was not easy to shock Babette out of her practiced poise, but her face went pale, and she backed closer to the wall as if he had shouted in her face. “You knew, and you said nothing?” she whispered.

  “Yes. But when I recognized Lucienne, it never occurred to me that Brecht would be in San Francisco. I had not seen him in eight years.”

  Babette pressed her hands to her bodice. “I cannot believe this,” she said. “You knew the man who had kidnapped the girl, and yet you never thought to tell—”

  “I never expected to see Brecht again. Cort said nothing to me until after the attack, and that was the first time I so much as suspected that he might be in town. Even then, I wasn’t certain.”

  “Certain or not, you should have warned Cort! And Anna! Mon Dieu, the poor child.”

  “She has no memory of her past with him. Brecht must have lost her years ago. How was I to guess that he was still looking for her?”

  Babette covered her mouth with her hands and shivered. “Why did he kidnap her? No ransom was ever demanded for the girl. She has clearly not been abused. What could he have wanted with her?”

  “I do not know his thoughts,” Yuri said. “I met him mere months before the kidnapping, and he disappeared immediately after he abducted Lucienne.”

  “Why in God’s name did you not go to the authorities?”

  “Brecht was gone, and any involvement on my part might suggest to the police that I knew of the crime before it took place.” He gripped her arms. “Would you have wanted me arrested? Questioned, possibly tortured, by the Reniers, who have such influence in New Orleans? Tried for a crime that would surely have seen me hanged? You know they are capable of it!”

  “You cared nothing for the child’s welfare?”

  “I made inquiries. I did what I could to learn more. But Brecht had covered his trail so well that no man could hope to find him. Not even the loups-garous.” He put on an expression of profound regret. “You know they searched for her. They failed. How could I succeed?”

  “Oh, Yuri.” She closed her eyes. “You could still have told Cort. It would have been so simple.”

  “Far from simple. I was considering how to tell him when he suggested this plan of escape. That convinced me that I no longer wished to be a party to his plans for the girl.”

  “If you had warned him as soon as you heard the name, he might not have suggested this plan! He would have known that Brecht was a more dangerous enemy than he—”

  “I need not explain my reasons to you, Babette. It is enough for you to know that I…” He looked down at his boots. “That I wished to protect you above all else.”

  She opened her eyes and searched his face. For deception. For cowardice. She was right to suspect both those things.

  “You must trust me, my dear,” he said. “Though we met only briefly, Brecht may remember my name. If he knows that I am involved with Cort, he might attempt to use us against him. Cort will never allow Brecht to take her. He would throw away all our lives for the sake of his pride and greed.”

  “Are we speaking of the same man?” Babette’s face had become flushed, and he realized he was once again treading on dangerous ground. “Yes, I know that both of you expected to be well rewarded for restoring the girl to her family. I came to San Francisco in full awareness of this, and I saw no harm in it, given the benefits to the girl. But to suggest that Monsieur Renier would go to any lengths to obtain this reward…”

  “You do not know him as I do.” He softened his gaze and touched her cheek. “What’s done is done. What Cort does with the girl is no longer my concern. He will no doubt get away safely, and it is my intention that we do the same.”

  He had hoped for capitulation and found himself sadly disappointed. “You know we cannot, Yuri,” she said. “I cannot.”

  “Brecht’s men may be following us even now. We must board that ferry.”

  “You go on,” she said. “I will—” She broke off and looked over his shoulder. Yuri turned and followed her ga
ze.

  A man was threading his way toward them through the crowd, feigning deep concentration on his own affairs. Too much concentration.

  “Come quickly,” Yuri said, taking Babette’s arm again.

  This time she didn’t balk. They set off at a fast pace toward the Ferry House. They were far less likely to be accosted once they were in the midst of a dozen or more passengers, and by the time they docked on the opposite shore of the Bay, he would have made some kind of plan to get away from Brecht’s minions. Or so he prayed.

  Only a few more yards, and then—

  He bumped hard into a slender man, who grabbed his arm and stuttered an apology. Yuri shoved the man aside, swung Babette clear and reached for the Derringer in his pocket.

  He wasn’t fast enough. The slender man drew a pistol from inside his coat and jammed it into Yuri’s side. Yuri chopped down on the man’s neck with the side of his hand. The man staggered, and his pistol clattered to the pavement. Several passersby paused to watch the skirmish, less alarmed than curious.

  “Do you require assistance?” one of the male observers asked.

  “Nyet,” Yuri snapped. He turned to pull Babette away, but the observer’s fingers were already digging into his shoulder.

  “I fear you may need medical attention, sir,” the man said. “I am a doctor. Please, come with me. I must insist.”

  Yuri cataloged the man with a desperate glance: well dressed, pleasant-featured, in every way a respectable gentleman.

  Di Reinardus had been clever. The men who’d actually confronted Yuri looked nothing like the typical hatchet men Cort had described.

  Fool. You miserable fool. But no recriminations would save them now. All his fears had been realized.

  There is still a way out, Yuri thought. The very way he had hoped to avoid. Babette would likely never forgive him. But if it was a matter of their survival, he was willing to pay that price.

  And the price of despising himself for the rest of his life.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE DUKE WAS WAITING for them at a nearby warehouse, perched on a crate as if it were a throne. He slid to the floor, bowed to Babette and gestured for her to remove her veil.