He tightened his lips miserably.
"You hypocrite! You goddamn hypocrite!"
The accusation came now, loosened like a small avalanche.
"You don't really love me at all! The only reason you're proposing to me is to help you secure that damn inheritance! That's all you actually give a fart about, isn't it?"
He flinched, as though from a physical blow.
"Well, isn't it?"
He didn't speak.
"Oh, this is rich!" Her boot blurred as she kicked savagely at snow. "Christ, this is really rich—"
"Zandra, listen to me!"
"What do you think I've been doing? And what did you expect? That I'd drop to my knees in gratitude for being used as any port in a storm?"
With a toss of her head, she stalked angrily over to where the horses were tethered.
"Zandra!" He caught up with her and seized her by the wrist. "For Christ's sake! Won't you please hear me out?"
She whirled around, a blaze of teeth and nails, magnificent in her fury. "Let go of me!" she said coldly, trying, in vain, to wrench her wrist loose. "I have nothing more to say to you."
"Look, I can appreciate your anger—"
"Oh, can you, now?"
"If you'll only let me explain! You're taking this entirely the wrong way—"
"Oh, I don't think so." Her eyes drilled right into his. "You're one hell of a cheeky bastard, and you've bloody well proved it."
"I love you, dammit!" The declaration burst from his mouth on its own accord. "Inheritance or not, sooner or later I'd have proposed to you anyway. Can't you see that?"
She laughed bitterly. "And I suppose these woods—" she gestured at the forest behind them "—are inhabited by elves, fairies, and trolls?"
He took a deep breath. "Zandra, whether you choose to believe this or not, you're the only woman I've ever really wanted."
"Oh! You want me, do you? Well, how nice. I gather you're waiting for me to drop on my knees and kiss your bloody feet in gratitude?"
He winced at the contempt in her voice.
"Well, bugger that!" she snapped. "What about me, sod it? How about what I might want? Or haven't you bothered to give me any thought?"
"I've thought about you constantly," he said truthfully.
"Right. So, about this marriage you've so kindly proposed," she continued remorselessly. "What would I get out of it, pray tell?"
He sighed. "You would become one of the richest women in the world. You would have money. Power. Position."
"None of which, truth be told, I find all that appealing."
So it's useless, he thought. I should have known. But how he could have made such a mess of it ... !
He felt wretched, cheap. Appalled with himself.
She used a thumb and index finger to remove his hand from her wrist. He let go willingly, and fully expected her to jump on Amethyst Dream and gallop off.
Instead, she continued to stand there, hugging herself with her arms while frowning down at the snow-carpeted landscape below.
"So this was the reason!" she exclaimed softly. "Now it all falls into place!"
He glanced sideways at her. "What does?"
"Why Dina was so insistent about my coming this weekend. Obviously, the two of you were in cahoots, along with Becky, I imagine. Yes. You three had it all figured out. But first, of course, I had to be lured here." She gestured at the rolling countryside and Becky V's mansion in the distance. "Otherwise, how could you spring your proposal on me?"
From his expression, she knew she had guessed correctly.
"Zandra—" he began.
She cut him off. "Heinzie, please," she begged. "Don't."
"But I must. Granted, you were invited under false pretenses. But my feelings for you—"
"Heinzie!" Her eyes filled with tears.
He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Christ, but he'd blown it! He couldn't have botched it worse if he'd tried. Hurting her had never been part of the plan.
Do we always wound the ones we love? he wondered.
"Zandra," he pleaded, "try not to judge me too hasti—"
But she had had enough, was running to her horse and, a moment later, had Amethyst Dream galloping downhill. Heading for the Greek Revival mansion in the distance.
Except for Alidad, Karl-Heinz stood alone atop the rise, a solitary figure watching helplessly as Zandra fled—
—putting distance between herself and him ...
... for good.
Lord Rosenkrantz was sipping champagne when a movement outside the wall of windows caught his eye. It was Zandra, astride the chestnut mare, hurtling toward the stables at full speed.
"Oh, my," he said, clucking his tongue. "Oh my, oh my. Do my eyes deceive me, my dear Becky, or does there seem to be a spot of trouble?"
"Trouble?" Becky instantly sat up and followed his gaze. "Alors. Not if I have anything to do with it," she said determinedly, rising to her feet.
"Wait," Dina said, getting up. "It may be better if I took care of this."
Becky hesitated, then nodded acquiescence. "Oui. Why not? You know her better than anyone."
As Dina hurried out, Lord Rosenkrantz lifted the champagne bottle out of the bucket.
"It looks," he predicted ominously, "as if some fortification might well be in order. More champagne, my dear?"
Chapter 37
Sweetie?" Dina inquired, voice syrupy with concern. She was speaking to Zandra, who she'd intercepted in the mud room. "Is everything all right?"
Zandra, heel in a boot jack, yanked her leg savagely out of a riding boot. "Why shouldn't it be? I mean, this is the perfect country weekend." She glared at Dina. "Isn't it?"
A frown marred Dina's flawless, Buf-Pufed complexion. "I'm not sure I follow you, sweetie."
"You can drop the act. Game's over, darling." Zandra shook her head in disbelief. "Jesus. You had it all figured out, didn't you?"
"Sweetie?"
"My fairy-tale wedding to Heinzie!" Zandra snapped angrily.
"Oh," Dina sighed, "that."
Zandra yanked her leg halfway out of the other boot and kicked it off, sending it flying across the room.
"Tell you what, sweetie," Dina suggested. "Why don't we go into the library and talk this over nice and calmly?"
"We can bloody well talk about it right here!" Zandra stared at her. "How dare you! What the fuck did you think you were up to? Or do you make a habit of pimping for Karl-Heinz?"
"Oh, dear." Dina switched into her Injured-Party Mode. "Really, sweetie, I wish you wouldn't be so distressed."
"Do you think I like feeling this way?"
"Of course not. I only wanted what was best for you."
"Right." Zandra's tone made it clear she thought otherwise.
"Plus, you and Heinzie are tailor-made for each other," Dina added.
"Are we?"
"Sweetie, you're the perfect couple. Each of you has something the other needs."
"Do we now?"
"Yes, you do. Heinzie desperately needs an heir. Otherwise he cannot inherit."
"And me? What do I supposedly need?"
"Why money, of course! Sweetie, you'll become one of the richest women in the world!"
"Dina," Zandra said wearily, "has it ever occurred to you that money isn't everything?"
"Of course it has. But believe me, sweetie, it is better to have than to have not. And I speak from experience."
"And does this experience of yours extend to the bloody birds and the bloody bees?"
"What do you mean?"
"Dina! Ensuring Heinzie's inheritance involves having sex. And bearing a child! More than one, if the firstborn happen to be female. He needs a male heir in order to inherit!"
"Yes, yes. I know."
"And has it also occurred to you that I might not want to sleep with Heinzie?"
"Who says you have to?"
Zandra stared at her. "What? You mean, the stork delivers it?"
"In a manner of spe
aking, yes," Dina smiled. "It could."
Zandra could only shake her head.
"It's simple, sweetie. You see, there's a loophole in the von und zu Engelwiesen law of primogeniture."
Zandra kept staring at her.
"For some reason," Dina explained, "it fails to specify that the prince must be the father. Apparently, back in the olden days, wives didn't dare stray."
Zandra remained silent.
"The only important thing," Dina said, "is that the requisite trio of lawyers witness the birth. But who's to say how the child was conceived?"
Zandra was speechless.
"Therefore, if sleeping with Heinzie is not your cup of tea, it can all be done through artificial insemination, so nice and clean, don't you think? Science has made remarkable strides."
"So you've thought of everything," Zandra said quietly.
"Why, yes," Dina said brightly, "I suppose I have."
"Except you overlooked one minor detail."
"And what's that, sweetie?" Dina suddenly looked worried.
"You'll have to find another victim," Zandra said coldly. "It won't be me. Or do you see me wearing a 'Womb to Let' sign?"
It was Dina's turn to stare.
"So forget it. My womb's not for sale. Nor for hire, either!"
And with that, Zandra left the room, slamming the door behind her.
"Cherie?" Rap tap tap.
Zandra could hear Becky knocking and calling to her through the door. "Cherie ..."
Can't I even lick my wounds in private? Zandra thought angrily. Or is being left alone too much to ask for?
"Cherie, please. Do open up."
God, how she wished Becky would give up and go away!
No such luck.
Might as well get it over with, Zandra decided. Maybe then I'll be allowed some peace. Unfolding herself from the overstuffed chair, she crossed the sitting room of the Tree Poppy suite and opened the door.
"Mechancete, mechancete!" Becky wagged a playful, reproachful finger. "You had me worried. May I come in?"
It's your house, Zandra wanted to retort, but manners would not permit. She opened the door wider and stepped aside.
Becky sailed in, shut the door, and adroitly steered Zandra over to the green damask sofa facing the pine mantel. They sat side by side, angled slightly toward each other in order to facilitate conversation.
Becky looked around the red and green room, as though its Tree Poppy walls, Tree Poppy chintz curtains, huge dark paintings, brick-red overstuffed chairs, and walnut furnishings were all new to her.
Nodding, as though in approval of the decor, she folded her hands in her lap, saying, "Interesting. So English, this room. N'est-ce pas?"
"Yes."
"Personally, in the city I prefer the French style, but it does not translate well to the country. Non. But the English! Only they know how to make country houses comfortable. Oui."
Becky tilted her head and gave Zandra the full treatment of her famous violet eyes.
"Naturellement, I have not come to discuss decorating."
Zandra met her gaze directly. "I didn't think you did."
Becky nodded. "Dina tells me she and you had une bisbille ... a small tiff?"
"Oh, but that was nothing!" Zandra said, with grandiose understatement.
"Bon. I am happy to hear it."
First Heinzie approaches me, Zandra thought, then Dina, and now Becky. What is this? Tag team wrestling?
"Dina mentioned it had something to do with Heinzie," Becky said. "C'est vrai?"
"Yes. He proposed, I turned him down. End of story."
"Pity. You would have made a most attractive couple. And he could use your help, you know."
"My help. Yes, I suspect that's why I was lured here."
Becky's violet eyes went opaque. "Sometimes such subterfuges are necessary. I deemed this to be one of those occasions. I did not mean to insult you, cherie. If I have, I extend my sincerest apologies."
"Apologies accepted."
"Alors. Now there is no more need of subterfuge. May I speak frankly?"
"Please do."
"I am appealing to you on Heinzie's behalf. Cherie, won't you reconsider?"
"And marry him, you mean?"
Becky nodded. "Oui."
"I'm sorry, but the answer is still no."
"Even if we make it worth your while?"
"Even then. Yes."
"May I ask why?"
"Because I have my own feelings to consider."
"Feelings," Becky sighed. "Cherie, must you be so obstine? Can you think of no one but yourself?"
"If I don't," Zandra said, "who will? Heinzie? Dina? You?"
"You are a silly, selfish little ingrate. I see that now."
Zandra flared. "I'm selfish? Haven't you got it turned around? It's you—you and Dina and Heinzie—who are being selfish. Please, darling, do me a favor. Next time someone needs a descendant of the Holy Roman Emperors, kindly leave me out of it?"
Zandra started to get up, but Becky caught her by the forearm and pulled her back down.
"We're not quite finished, cherie."
Zandra thrust out her chin determinedly. "I'm afraid we are."
"You silly child!" Becky's lacquered talons dug into Zandra's arm. "Why must you be so difficult? Why—?"
Zandra had no desire to argue, and remained silent.
"People get married for convenience all the time," Becky went on. "To get their green cards. To secure tax advantages. To hide unsavory predilections behind respectable facades. The reasons are endless."
Zandra still did not speak.
"All you have to do is marry Heinzie and give him a son. Afterwards, you can do as you wish. Divorce him. Live in luxurious splendor for the rest of your life ..."
Zandra had had enough. "You might as well save your breath. I'm really not interested."
Becky's eyes narrowed. "Ten million dollars. Is that enough to interest you?"
"You haven't been listening. I said, no sale!"
"Twenty million, then?"
"You can make it a hundred million, and you'd still be wasting your breath!"
"Vraiment!" Becky scoffed. "You? Turn down a hundred million?"
"Yes. Me."
"Cherie, please. Don't make me laugh!"
"Chere amie, I'm not trying to." Zandra imitated Becky to scathing perfection. "Alors. This discussion is fini."
The mimicry was so arch that Becky let go of Zandra's arm and jumped to her feet.
"How dare you!" she hissed.
"Perhaps now," Zandra said tightly, "you'll kindly leave. Think it's time I started packing my things. Wouldn't want to outstay my welcome."
"That," Becky said icily, "might not be such a bad idea. I shall arrange for a car."
And turning on her heel, she left, shutting the door soundlessly behind her.
Five minutes later, Zandra was on her way back to the city.
At Becky V's, predinner drinks were being served. Nina Fairey, roaming the huge sitting room, nursed a glass of white wine.
"What," she wondered aloud, "is keeping Zandra?"
It was Becky who replied.
"I'm afraid she took ill, cherie. But she did ask me to convey her regrets."
"It's nothing serious, is it?"
"Non. Non. Probably just a stomach virus. You know. Ah! Here come the hors d'oeuvres. You really must try the miniature pizzas. They truly are sublime!"
Chapter 38
Dom Perignon!" Kenzie exclaimed. "Are we trying to make amends?"
"What's with this sudden 'we' shit? You hanging around with nurses now? Anyway ..."
Charley went over to the gilt-framed mirror with a cocky little strut and craned his neck, adjusting his tie like John Gotti.
"Told you I'm not a Cold Duck kinda guy, didn't I?"
She laughed. "Yes, you did."
"Classy," he said, brushing his lapels with his fingernails. "Yep. That's-a me."
"All right, Narcissus. You've don
e enough preening for one day. Here. Why don't you make yourself useful and pop the cork? I'll go scare up some champagne glasses."
Kenzie felt a sudden pang of guilt. Good Lord, she thought. I used almost the exact same phrase with Hannes the last time I saw him!
She went into the kitchenette, rebuking herself for feeling guilt.
It's fine for a man to see more than one woman, she thought. That's called virility. But if a woman sees more than one man, she's called a whore. She told herself that worrying about this double standard was worthless. It won't get me anywhere.
Charley, peeling the dark green foil from around the neck of the bottle, squeezed past her to toss it into the kitchen trash. An empty bottle of Krug sticking out of it stopped him short.
"Whoa!" he said, reaching down and fishing it out. "You were right."
"About what?"
"Your taste. It's definitely going upscale. But Krug? I'd say that's a little pricey for a working girl to buy for herself, wouldn't you?"
Kenzie turned around, a glass in each hand. It was difficult to tell which flashed more, the cut crystal or her eyes.
"Detective Ferraro," she demanded, "are you on a case, or am I going to have to open that damn bottle?"
His grin was mocking her. "Touchy, touchy. Hit a nerve, huh?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You see an engagement ring on my finger?"
"Nope."
"All right, then. Mind your own business."
He tossed the Krug back into the trash. "Stuff's for a guy sorta likes a girl. Now, he's really nuts for her? He brings her the real thing." He held up the Dom Perignon and grinned.
"Oh, give it a break, Charley," she said wearily.
His grin broadened as he popped the cork and filled first one glass, and then the other. He put the bottle down. Took one of the glasses. Clinked it against hers.
"To us," he said. " 'Cause I care enough to give the very best."
"Charley, are you sure you're not Irish?"
"Positive. Neapolitan through and through. Why?"
"Because, the last time I heard this much blarney, I was dating an Irishman!"
She went out into the living room and he followed her.
"We're still going to make your world-famous risotto?" he asked.
Too Damn Rich Page 40
