Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5

by Patricia Hagan

  It had not been a pleasant scene. Travis had become angry. Kitty seemed hurt. Dani had not apologized for her outburst, feeling she had a right to state her feelings. She had eventually given in to the idea of the ball, albeit reluctantly, but had no intention of being escorted, no intention of doing anything except play the role of new gallery owner, new shop owner.

  Better a dilettante than a debutante, she had declared to herself.

  Politely, she declined Cyril’s offer. “That’s very kind of you, but I will be so busy I would not be much company for you.”

  Reluctantly, he rose. “I thank you for your hospitality, for granting me a private showing, and should you change your mind about allowing me to be your escort, please let me know.”

  She walked with him to the door. He clasped her hand, raised it to his lips. “You are beautiful,” he told her reverently. “I issue fair warning to all your other suitors that I intend to compete for your company.”

  Dani laughed with pleasure. “I should be honored, monsieur.” She gave a small curtsy, said she would look forward to seeing him at the ball, then said goodbye.

  Cyril took his hat from the butler, then made his way out and down the steps.

  At the wrought-iron gate, he paused to gaze back at the mansion. Two treasures lay within—Dani Coltrane and the painting of the Alexandrovsky Palace.

  He intended to possess both.

  Chapter Eight

  No expense had been too large, no detail too small in planning for the spectacular celebration of the grand opening of the antique and art gallery of Mademoiselle Dani Coltrane.

  Due to her father’s political and social position, there was no problem in gaining permission to host the festivities in the famed Tuileries Gardens.

  The gardens held a special place in Dani’s heart, for she loved their symmetrical formality yet found them anything but severe. Their openness and spacious views offered lightness, charm.

  She did not, however, like to think of some of the grim history surrounding them. The dreaded guillotine had been erected near the gates in 1793, and records stated that for the next three years 1,343 people had been decapitated.

  Dani liked to think that the flowers of the gardens bloomed especially for the memories of those poor dead souls. Marigolds lined the path to where the guillotine had stood, with chives in bloom forming pink bouquets. Baltic ivy draped a huge sundial, and, in a lively contrast of form and color, yarrow flaunted yellow blossoms above purple hibiscus and orange tiger lilies.

  Little had been changed since André Le Nôtre laid out the gardens two hundred years before, in 1664. He had been born right in the garden, in the gardener’s cottage, and had also died there.

  Carrying out the line of his central allée beyond and out into the country, a path traced straight along the wooded hill to the west of the palace. It was on this hilltop, one hundred and seventy years later, in 1834, that the Arc de Triomphe was erected, in celebration of Napoleon’s victorious campaigns of 1805.

  At the eastern edge of the garden, Napoleon III had erected a hothouse, which was called the Orangerie, and a court for tennis—the Jeu de Paume.

  The formal exit gate was flanked by two winged horses, dating back to the seventeenth century, and gave a splendid view of the Place de la Concorde, the moat-skirted octagon designed by Jacques Ange Gabriel in 1753.

  Had inclement weather prevailed, the festivities could have been moved on short notice into the palace. However, on the day of the event, conditions of nature could not have been better. Though the air was cool with the promise of fall, skies were clear and void of clouds. By midafternoon, a brightly smiling sun had bestowed warmth upon Paris…and the gardens.

  Canopies of silk, in every color of the rainbow, and mounted upon shining brass spears, dotted the lush, green landscape. Each color designated a different fare, set out upon tables covered in the finest lace over satin sheeting the same shade of the canopy above.

  A green canopy was the invitation for fruits—assorted melon balls marinated in grape liqueur; succulent bananas dipped in sugar, then fried and coated in coconut; apples stewed thick and rich in a peppermint syrup; grapes dusted in the most delicate powdered sugar; plump figs soaked in honey; cherries and pineapple laced with brandy.

  Yellow silk displayed an array of egg and cheese dishes. There were pots of simmering fondue for every taste bud, with chunks of bread waiting to be dipped into luscious cheese, egg, mushroom, or snail cream sauces. For the sweet tooth, there were tiny squares of cake for dipping into thick, rich chocolate.

  After the apéritif tents, blue canopies offered first courses: Bisque d’Ecrevisses—crayfish bisque; Jambon Persillé de Bourgogne—parsleyed ham in aspic; Fricassee de Petits-gris aux Croutons—fricassee of snails; and Oeufs en Meurette—baked eggs with bacon and croutons.

  Bright red canopies heralded the delicious menu for second courses: Gougeonnettes de Filets de Sole—fried sole fingers; Steak Bourguignon a Ia Moelle—steak with beef marrow; Bouribout aux Raisins—ragout of duck and grapes; Estouffade de Boeuf au Pommard aux Pates Fraiches—beef stewed in red wine with fresh noodles; and Cuisses de Grenouilles a Ia Comtoise—frogs’ legs in cream sauce.

  As an added treat, it had been Dani’s idea to invite chefs from a number of the culinary regions of France to present their regional specialties. From the Ile-de-France, the region surrounding Paris, there was the steak filet known as chateaubriand. Salmon was presented by the Loire Valley, as well as their famed meatballs made from pork and goose meat. Brittany heralded its specialties of lobster and fish, and the pancakes called crêpes bretonnes.

  From Normandy, there were omelets, excellent cheeses, and Rouen duck. The region of Champagne was celebrated for its trout stews, kidneys fried in champagne, and braised pike.

  The Germanic influence was evident in the dishes prepared by the regional chefs of Alsace-Lorraine, such as choucroute garnie—sauerkraut garnished with ham, pork, sausages, and assorted vegetables.

  The chef from the Burgundy region used its renowned wines to cook fish balls, and Lyon featured sausages and foie gras.

  Southeast of Cognac lay the region of Périgord, famed for its truffles, a subterranean fungus rooted from the ground by specially trained pigs and dogs. This delicacy, treasured by gourmets, was offered in abundance, for demand would be immense.

  There was also a special canopy which provided only cheese, with breads and crackers for accompaniment. Tasty varieties such as Roquefort, Camembert; Brie, and Gruyère were laid out.

  What was no doubt the favorite tented restaurant of all was the pink silk-roofed buffet of desserts: Marquise au Chocolat a la Fine Champagne—chocolate cake with Cognac; Tarte Tatin a la Crème Chantilly—apple tart with whipped cream; Gâteau de Riz Crème Anglaise—rice pudding with custard sauce; and Crème Renversée Caramélisée—caramelized cream custard.

  The vineyards and wineries of the various regions were represented heartily—Cognac, Bordeaux, Burgundy, Rhine, Moselle. In addition, there was génépi des Alpes—alpine liqueur; marc de Savoie—grape brandy; and mirabelle—white plum brandy. Sparkling mineral water was provided as well.

  Although Dani was still somewhat piqued by the thought of her father and stepmother using the ball as her social debut, she had found herself enthusiastically caught up in the excitement. Handwritten invitations in gold ink on blue parchment had gone out to over fifteen hundred people. Each and every recipient had accepted. It was, by public and private declaration, a gala not to be missed.

  Dani rose early the morning of the festivities, declining breakfast and opting for only tea due to the excited churning within her. It was, she knew, going to be an event she would always remember. To her family, it might seem she was merely on display as a most eligible and rich young debutante, but she knew better. Opening the shop meant a firm statement of her own independence. The events surrounding it, no matter how lush and expensive, were merely of a business nature as far as she was concerned.

&n
bsp; The most renowned coiffeur in Paris, Mimi Letrouse, arrived at the Coltrane mansion promptly at nine that morning to do first Kitty’s hair, then Dani’s.

  Dani sat impatiently while Mimi painstakingly curled each tress of her autumn-gold hair with a heated iron. Then, each was twisted and pulled high up on her head, in layer after layer, every ringlet fastened with a specially designed heart-shaped clip of gold, set with tiny emeralds and edged in diamond chips. These had been a gift from her father from a trip to South Africa, and he’d had them especially made for her to wear on a very special occasion.

  That occasion, Dani knew, was most definitely now.

  When his wife made her way down the grand staircase, Travis Coltrane felt his heart quicken at the dazzling sight. She was still the most beautiful and exciting woman he had ever known. Dressed in a gown of purple satin, her lavender eyes glowed as though electrified beneath long, dusty lashes. Lush, firm breasts strained against the thickly beaded bodice. Ribbons of green satin umbrellaed down the skirt and were dotted with gleaming white pearls set in rosettes of lavender lace. At her slender throat were the elegant emeralds he had given her so long ago, set in gold filigree and interspersed with delicate rubies and tiny diamonds.

  She reached the marbled foyer, and he gently brushed his lips to her forehead and murmured huskily, “You are lovely, and you drive me crazy…”

  Kitty laughed, wickedly glancing at his white silk trousers and noting the slight bulge. “Travis, you always were insatiable.”

  Then, on silent cue, they stopped their whispered bantering to turn almost reverently to the stairs once more. Dani stood at the top, awesomely beautiful in her simplicity. Her gown was of gold lamé. Strapless, unadorned, it hugged every line of her body as it cascaded smoothly, like liquid fire, to the floor. With her cinnamon tresses afire with emeralds and diamonds, she wore no other jewelry. White gloves reached to her elbows. Her shoes were also gold.

  Kitty felt her eyes fill with tears as she whispered, “Oh, Dani, my darling, you are truly beautiful…”

  Travis went to clasp her hand as she reached the foyer, and he forced his voice around the emotional lump that had risen in his throat. “God, honey, if only your mother could see you…”

  When the Coltranes arrived at the Tuileries Gardens, they gazed upon a seemingly endless sea of people amid a myriad of softly blowing canopies, the entire seascape drowning in flowers of every color and kind.

  Dani caught her breath, held it, then let it out slowly to speak in a quivering voice. “I never dreamed it would be like this.”

  Travis smiled encouragingly. “It’s all yours, my sweet. Enjoy every minute.”

  For the first hour of the gala, Dani was literally smothered by the swarm of well-wishers who pushed forward to congratulate her on the opening, and the fabulous party. She smiled, made appropriate comments, all the while feeling heady with the fragrance of the flowers, the delicious champagne, and the divine sound of music from three orchestras that filled the air.

  When Cyril Arpel appeared suddenly to stand at her side, he did not leave. Dandily dressed in formal attire of red velvet and black satin, he had never felt more ebullient. After all, people were looking at him as he stood next to the ravishing Dani Coltrane, as though he were her escort.

  Cyril hoped the attention would last all evening. Whenever Darn finished a conversation with someone, he would immediately start one of his own, if he considered the person important enough. Darn did not seem to mind, or notice, that, for all appearances, it looked as though they were together.

  Finally, she turned to him almost in desperation and murmured, “My throat is so dry, and I haven’t seen a waiter go by with champagne in ages. Please, would you get me some?”

  He was quick to oblige. “Of course.” Then he added hopefully, “And as soon as you can politely remove yourself from this impromptu receiving line, perhaps we can slip away and have our dinner. The aroma of all those delicacies is making me ravenous.”

  Dani laughed and confessed, “Me too. We’ll slip away soon.”

  Cyril, she decided, was a dear—pleasant, charming, quick-witted. She found him to be extremely enjoyable company.

  She was staring thoughtfully after him, momentarily oblivious to what was going on around her. Then, feeling her hand grasped gently, lifted, the touch of warm lips against her fingertips, she turned back to the moment at hand…and saw the tousled dark hair of the head bent before her.

  The man straightened.

  Dani suddenly found herself looking up into the most beautifully sensuous blue eyes imaginable, fringed by incredibly thick black lashes…and all a part of the most handsome man she had ever seen in her entire life. His complexion was dark, as though he spent many hours lounging in the sun on the beaches in the South of France.

  He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a simple but elegant, suit of maroon velvet. His shirt, ruffled and open at the throat, was of fine blue silk that complemented his fantastic eyes.

  He continued to hold her hand as he gazed down at her. There was the play of a smile on his lips as he said finally, lazily, “Miss Coltrane, you are even lovelier in person than in reputation.”

  He had addressed her in flawless English. However, she noticed that while his voice had no trace of a French or American accent, there was a light touch of British…but yet, there was another sound, one that she found intriguing, and pleasant to the ear.

  As he continued to caress her fingertips and look at her in an almost intimate way, Dani felt a strange stirring within. Good Lord, she silently admonished herself, what was wrong with her? She had certainly been around men before, been held, and kissed, and caressed. She was certainly not the innocent little novice who had left the convent a year ago. She knew what it was like to feel warm rushes of longing.

  But never like this…

  She jerked her hand from his so abruptly that he smiled, as though he knew what she was feeling.

  Dani commanded herself to remain coolly in control of herself, on the surface, at least. She was pleased with the unconstrained tone of her voice as she responded, “Monsieur, I do not believe we have met.”

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully for an instant, then said quietly, “I am known as Drakar.”

  Drakar. Where had she heard that name before? There was a familiar ring to it, yet she could not remember, knew only that had she ever met so strikingly handsome a man before, she would certainly remember him…as did every other woman who had ever had the pleasure, no doubt!

  Without a word, or invitation, the tall stranger boldly took Dani’s hand once more and whispered, “Come along. I want to get to know you better, and that is impossible in this mob.”

  Dani glanced wildly about, wondering fleetingly about the propriety of having a strange man spirit her away from her own party.

  “Sir, I don’t think this is proper,” she protested, but her voice sounded unconvinced, even to her own ears.

  He turned to give her a lopsided, devil-may-care grin. “Sorry if you’re offended, Miss Coltrane, but I just don’t take you for the sort of woman who frankly gives a damn about what’s proper and what isn’t.”

  Dani gasped indignantly, pulled back. “I—I beg your pardon!” she stammered, then hated herself for sounding so…so priggish!

  At the feel of her resistance, Drakar stopped, turned, and looked down at her with eyes of icy challenge. “I merely want a chance to get to know you better, Miss Coltrane. I thought we might have a dance together at the little pavilion down by the river. If you find me offensive, then I will apologize.”

  Suddenly, Dani knew that she did want to know him better. There was something wild and reckless about him—a spirit she found refreshing…and challenging. With a smile touched with arrogance, she coolly said, “Very well, sir. I doubt I have anything to fear with so many people around.”

  Cinnamon eyes met sapphire eyes in challenge.

  They had paused beneath an arched trellis thick with the free-flowering vin
e of blue wisteria. A waiter passed by. Drakar reached out and took two glasses of sparkling champagne, gave one to Dani, and they each took a sip, eyes continuing to lock as they stared at each other over the gilt-edged rims.

  Finally, Drakar nodded his head ever so slightly and whispered, “If I wanted more from you than a dance, Miss Coltrane, we would be on the way to my apartment.”

  Dani was surprised to feel only amusement at such a bold remark. If it had been any other man, she would probably react in anger, indignance, but already she was well aware that this Drakar, whoever he was, was unlike any man she had ever encountered before. She found him mysterious, handsome, and, oh, yes, extremely desirable. But more than that, she found him to be the first real challenge in a man she’d ever experienced. He was not fawning, obsequious. He was, she silently acknowledged, a real man.

  “I find you quite insolent and presumptuous, sir. Do you really believe you have only to desire a woman, and she will respond to you so easily?”

  He slowly finished his champagne before casually stating, “Desire must be mutual, my dear, in order for a man and woman to achieve reciprocal enjoyment…and satisfaction.”

  It was her turn to lift a mocking eyebrow. “And you think I desire you?” she asked.

  Drakar did not hesitate to nod. “Oh, yes. I sense hunger in women, and I can see in your eyes that there is a famine for love inside you.”

  Dani felt herself bristling. He was becoming a bit too presumptuous, and needed to be put in his place. “Perhaps you sense your own famine, sir, and see in women what you want to see, because you, yourself, are starved for love.”

  His eyes twinkled with amusement. “No, you’re wrong. I ignore the hunger in women for whom I have no desire. As I have already told you, desire must be mutual.”

  He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, then smiled and winked. “We have plenty of time to talk about our desire. May we have that dance now?”

  Dani had to laugh. How could she be angry when she was enjoying herself so much? The man was an enigma, but she was not intimidated. She found the carefree banter refreshing.