Текст книги "Wild Silver "
Автор книги: Iris Johansen
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
THE DELANEYS, THE UNTAMED YEARS
Wild Silver
Iris Johansen
(Delaneys 01)
WILD SILVER A Bantam Book I May 1988
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1988 by Iris Johansen.
Cover art copyright © 1988 by Pino Daeni.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
ISBN 0-553-21.898-0
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell
Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words „Bantam Books“ and
the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in
other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New
York 10.103.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Prologue: The Firebird
The Kuban, Russia November 18, 1863
Nicholas first saw the bird when he crested the hill. The great
bird hovered like a phantom against the sullen red glare of the
winter sunset, seeming to hang between heaven and earth,
belonging to neither, scornful of both.
Nicholas stopped at the summit of the hill, his breath
coming in harsh gasps, his heart beating painfully in his breast.
The wind was sharp, cutting through his ragged tunic and
striking the open wounds on his back as viciously as Igor’s
knout had. He would rest for just a moment before descending
to the steppe.
He eased the rawhide straps of the harness off his shoulders
where they were cutting into his flesh. What difference did it
make anyway? It would be a miracle if they didn’t die before
they reached the other side of the desolate steppe ahead. The
lowering blue-gray clouds on the horizon could mean only
snow and chilling cold within a matter of hours, and they had
not even the protection of boots. It was insanity to keep trying
to ward off the death Igor had decreed for them.
„Leave me.“
Nicholas turned to look at the man on the makeshift
stretcher he had fashioned of pine branches bound together
with strips of rawhide. „No.“
Mikhail slowly shook his head, his wild mop of hair
shining bloodred under the rays of the setting sun. „You will
die. I am too big for you to pull like this. Without me you
might make it to shelter before the snows.“
„I’m to walk away from you?“ Nicholas asked savagely.
„Simply to leave you lying here with two broken legs and a
storm coming?“
Mikhail shrugged his massive shoulders. „The cold death is
not so bad. I will just go to sleep and not wake up. You saved
me from a much worse death. It is enough.“
Suffocating darkness. Nicholas drew a deep breath and
quickly suppressed the memory. He didn’t want to remember
those moments before Igor had granted them mercy. Mercy?
The irony caused his lips to curve in a mirthless smile. Yet
Igor had actually thought he was being merciful to set them
out in the wilderness with no boots, no food or water, and a
storm sweeping toward the steppes. Cossack mercy. Cossack
justice. Survive and triumph or die. It was a lesson Nicholas
had learned well in his years with Igor.
And he would survive. He would not give up the battle. He
smiled down at Mikhail. „We won’t die, my friend. We’ve
gone through too much to let Igor kill us now.“ Again he
tightened the leather straps of the harness across his shoulders.
„We have only a little farther to go.“
„You don’t even know where we are. Our only chance is to
reach the Sea of Azov and take shelter. If we go in any other
direction, we will die in the hills or on the steppes.“ Mikhail
paused, then said once more, softly, „Leave me, Nicholas.“
Nicholas didn’t look at him. „Don’t be foolish. I may need
the heat from that big body of yours to keep me warm if the
storm does come. I’m only being selfish.“
„Nicholas – “
Nicholas shook his head. „No, Mikhail, we go together.“ A
sudden reckless smile appeared on his face. „As for which
direction, suppose we leave it up to the firebird.“ He pointed to
the bird still silhouetted against the horizon. „We’ll let her lead
us to the Sea of Azov.“
„That is not a firebird; it is a hawk.“
„How can you tell from this distance? It could be a firebird
sent to lead us to a land of milk and honey.“
„You are mad, Nicholas,“ Mikhail murmured, his voice full
of affection, „Why?“ For an instant, bitterness, pain, and
sadness turned the boy’s expression bleak. „It’s as reasonable
as anything else in our lives at the moment. We’ll watch our
pretty firebird to see which direction she flies and follow her
benign guidance.“
„It is a hawk, Nicholas.“ Still, Mikhail’s gaze compulsively
followed Nicholas’s to the horizon. „Only a hawk.“
The bird suddenly spread its great dark wings and soared
proudly, gracefully, a wild monarch of the heavens it ruled.
Against the crimson sky the silhouette took on the aura of the
sunset itself, and for a moment its wings looked as though they
were outlined in tongues of flame. The two men watched in
fascination as the bird swooped and tumbled on the air
currents in an ecstasy of flight and then turned and swooped
off toward the east.
Nicholas laughed softly. „You’re wrong, my friend. We go
east.“
He lurched forward, dragging the heavy stretcher behind
him, the lacerated flesh of his back throbbing as the muscles
beneath it strained with his herculean effort to save himself
and Mikhail… and to follow the firebird.
1
New Orleans May 5, 1874
„I’d like to see his highness, Prince Nicholas Savron.“ Simon
Bentsen strode up the gangplank of the Mississippi Rose, his
gaze fixed distastefully on the sandy-haired young man in
rumpled denim trousers and shirt-sleeves who was half sitting,
half leaning on the wooden rail of the boiler deck. A coarse
stubble darkened the riverman’s lean cheeks and the scent of
perfume and brandy emanated from his unkempt clothing. „I
was told at the Hotel Royal that his highness had left there
four days ago and taken up residence here.“
„Four days,“ the young man repeated dazedly. „Lordy, has
it really been four days?“
The fellow was obviously tipsy and Bentsen’s disapproval
deepened. If a man in his employ were in this condition in the
middle of the day, he would reprimand him severely at the
least; more likely, he would dismiss him. „I’m Simon Bentsen
of the Randall Investigative Agency. I have a report for his
highness. If you’ll tell me where to find him, I won’t trouble
you further.“
„No trouble.“ The young man straightened away from the
rail, swaying unsteadily for a moment before giving Bentsen a
half bow. „My name’s Robert Dan-fold, pilot of the
Mississippi Rose. Glad to make your acquaintance. I think
Nicky is in his cabin.“
„Nicky?“ Bentsen inquired. „You’re a friend of his
highness?“
„I guess so,“ Danfold said vaguely as he carefully
negotiated the wide staircase leading to the next deck. „I never
met him until he took me over four days ago.“
„Took you over?“
„When he won the Rose from Mr. Bassinger.“ Danfold
gazed blearily but proudly around the deck.
It was a craft worthy of pride, Bentsen thought. Indeed,
he’d admired it from the riverbank: it was long and white and
impressive; two tall plumed smokestacks towered over its
three decks and a flag on the jackstaff whipped lazily in the
breeze. An ornate golden rose was emblazoned on the huge
white paddlebox above the name of the riverboat.
„Where the Rose goes, I go,“ Danfold declared.
„I doubt his highness will entrust this boat to you if you
continue to overindulge in this fashion.“
Danfold glanced at him over his shoulder, his hazel eyes no
longer vague but sharp with annoyance. „We’re docked,
dammit. I don’t touch a drop when I’m on the job. I not only
just got my captain’s papers, but I’m the best damn pilot on the
river and don’t you forget it.“
„It’s none of my concern,“ Bentsen said. He wouldn’t have
wasted time talking to this fellow if his nerves hadn’t been
frayed by worry over his client’s reaction to the report he was
about to give. The information his agents had acquired was
flimsy at best; still, he probably could bluff his way through
the interview, for any man who would permit drunkenness in
his employees couldn’t be too difficult to handle. „And I’ll
hardly bother to remember anything that concerns either the
Mississippi Rose or yourself. I merely thought it best to issue a
warning. Prince Savron is a very rich and powerful man and
accustomed to instant obedience and decorum from his
employees.“
„Decorum?“ Danfold blinked. „Nicky?“
„And I’m sure he’d prefer you to be more formal in your
address. Russian nobility is very finicky about etiquette.“
„Formal.“ Danfold nodded solemnly, his lids veiling his
eyes. „Yessiree, Mr. Bentsen. I’ll try to remember that.“ He
opened a handsome mahogany door. „This leads to the saloon.
The master stateroom can be reached by either the saloon or
the hurricane deck, but this is quicker. By the way, when did
you meet Prince Nicholas?“
„We’ve communicated only by letter but – “ Bent-sen
broke off as he stepped through the entrance of a saloon
stretching an astounding three hundred feet in length, its wall
ringing with the music of a lively waltz. „Good Lord, what’s
going on?“
„A party,“ Danfold said blandly as he closed the door of the
saloon behind him. „To celebrate his highness’s acquisition of
the Mississippi Rose. Nicky – I mean, his highness – likes
parties.“
Party? Orgy more accurately described the goings-on in the
saloon, Bentsen thought sourly. A four-piece orchestra was
playing with enthusiasm at the far end of the long room, and
the scent of cigar smoke, perfume, and alcohol permeated the
air. The saloon was crowded with a motley collection of well-
dressed New Orleans bucks, rivermen in denim trousers and
coarse cotton shirts, and pretty ladies in satin gowns in all the
hues of the rainbow. Then, as he saw one of the gentlemen
who was dancing with a particularly buxom beauty pull down
her bodice and bare her naked breasts, he mentally substituted
the term women for ladies. Orgy, indeed!
He averted his gaze from the man who was now nuzzling
the blond woman’s nipple. „A party at one o’clock in the
afternoon?“
„Well, it started at night.“ Danfold crossed the saloon to the
door of a stateroom with a beautifully executed painting of a
peaceful river scene. „Four nights ago when Nicky won the
Rose in a poker game in the cardroom at Madam LaRue’s
place, he invited all the customers and Madam’s girls to come
down for a celebration.“ He nodded at the man who was
occupied with the mammary attractions of the blonde. „Even
Mr. Bassinger.“ He knocked on the door. „I guess he thought
Mr. Bassinger needed a little cheering up after losing the Rose.
It’s a damn fine boat.“
Fine was an understatement, Bentsen thought, looking
around the enormous saloon. The high white and gold ceiling
was divided into large diamond shapes by the crossing of
Gothic arches. Above were large stained-glass skylights
through which streamed a rainbow of colored light that ignited
a fiery glitter on the sparkling crystal of the twelve large
chandeliers. A plush crimson carpet ran the entire length of the
saloon, and the doors of the innumerable staterooms lining the
main cabin on either side were embellished with beautifully
painted landscapes similar to the one on the door in front of
him.
The door abruptly swung open in answer to Dan-fold’s
knock.
Immense. The word immediately struck Bentsen as he
gazed at the huge man who had opened the door. He was
dressed in a white tunic, black trousers, and polished knee-
length boots, and was at least seven feet tall. With blazing red
hair crowning his head like scarlet snow cresting a mountain,
and his features as rough as the crags of a rocky summit, he
was a breathtaking figure.
„Mikhail Kuzdief, this is Mr. Bentsen of the Randall
Investigative Agency,“ Danfold said. „He wants to see Nicky.“
He snapped his fingers. „Damn, I keep forgetting. He wants to
see his highness, Prince Nicholas Savron.“
A low, sobbing moan, undeniably feminine, drifted from
the interior of the stateroom beyond Mikhail’s broad
shoulders.
„Unless he’s busy,“ Danfold added hurriedly.
„He is busy.“ Mikhail’s impassive brown gaze rested on
Bentsen’s face. „But he is almost finished and he will not mind
if you both come in.“ He threw open the door and stepped
aside. „Sit down. Would you like a glass of wine while you
wait?“
„What?“ Shocked, Bentsen stared at the wide bed across
the room on which two naked bodies were engaged in an
activity best suited for that piece of furniture. The woman
moaned again and the man paused to glance down at her and
chuckle. Bentsen jerked his gaze back to the big Russian.
„Perhaps I’d better wait outside.“
„Nonsense, sit down and watch.“
Bentsen hastily looked around. An overstuffed brocade
chair to the left of the door was occupied by a slender, young
man who was elegantly garbed. One leg, encased in tight
fawn-colored gabardine trousers, was thrown casually over the
arm of the chair and swung indolently. „Allow me to introduce
myself. I am Valentin Marinov.“ He gestured with the crystal
goblet in his hand toward the man on the bed. „And that’s
Nicky. I’m afraid he’s too busy at the moment to stand up and
make his bow.“
„I see. Suppose I wait on deck until he’s less… occupied.“
„Why?“ Marinov s brow rose. „It’s damnably hot up there.
The heat in your city of New Orleans is almost unbearable in
the afternoon.“ He gestured to the chair beside him. „You’ll be
much more comfortable here. I assure you Nicky will not
object.“
Bentsen hesitated. „The lady…“
„The ‘lady’ likes an audience,“ Marinov murmured. „Five
nights ago at Madam LaRue’s she satisfied three gentlemen
simultaneously at one of Madam’s little staged presentations.
Liza tells us that being watched adds immeasurably to her
excitement.“ He lifted the goblet to his lips. „Which is the
reason Mikhail and I are here. Nicky always tries to please his
ladies.“
„She does seem to be enjoying herself.“ Danfold grinned.
„And it tends to make a man’s juices rise, doesn’t it?“ He
turned to leave. „I thought I was too tired to enjoy myself
anymore in that fashion, but I suddenly feel refreshed. I
believe I’ll go back to the party. Good day, gentlemen.“
The door swung shut behind him.
Bentsen hesitated and then moved to seat himself in the
chair Marinov had indicated, trying to keep from looking at
the writhing figures on the bed. „This is most… unusual.“ He
accepted the glass of wine Mikhail Kuzdief handed him. „I
have a report to make and – “ The woman gave a low, keening
cry and his gaze flew to the bed before he could stop himself.
Good Lord, he was actually becoming aroused. He had never
been present at any of the bordello presentations of the type
Marinov had mentioned, but they couldn’t have been more
erotic than the scene he was witnessing now.
Sheer white draperies were drawn around the canopy bed,
but the veiling concealed very little from view. Sunlight
poured into the room from the long window across the
stateroom, piercing the filmy curtains, touching Nicholas
Savron’s hair with a nimbus of gold and highlighting the
powerful muscles of his naked bronzed body as he moved over
the woman beneath him.
He could see very little of the woman, but the prince was
really quite beautiful, Bentsen thought. He was immediately as
embarrassed by the adjective that had occurred to him as he
was by watching this intimate display. Yet, if he suppressed his
discomfort, it was rather like observing a fine statue come to
life. Savron was boldly masculine, his muscles developed to
sleek perfection, his shoulders broad, his waist slim, his
buttocks tight as they rippled with movement.
The prince was moving faster and Bentsen felt his own
desire mounting. It was impossible not to imagine oneself in
Savron’s place held tight within the woman’s body. He forced
his gaze away and glanced around the room, trying desperately
to distract himself. A thick plush beige carpet embossed with
cream roses, fine mahogany furniture, peach-colored velvet
draperies at the windows, and the canopy bed. A tufted velvet
cushioned bench at the foot of the bed matched the olive green
chair across the room. Murals painted on the polished pine
walls…
Murals! Bentsen’s eyes widened as he stared transfixed by
the pictures painted on the walls.
„Quite decadent, aren’t they?“ Marinov chuckled.
„Bassinger evidently enjoys several rather interesting
perversions and decided to have them given a certain
immortality. Nicky was very amused when he saw this cabin.“
The murals were both lewd and explicit. „His highness
appears to be easily amused.“
„Sometimes,“ Marinov drawled. „He finds most things
hard to take seriously these days.“ He smiled faintly as his
gaze narrowed on Bentsen’s flushed face. „Are you
experiencing… difficulty? I’m sure Nicky would understand if
you joined the party.“
„Certainly not.“ Bentsen casually put his hat on his lap.
„I’ll wait.“
Marinov shrugged. „As you like.“ He downed the last of
the wine in his glass. „I was only being courteous. Nicky
wouldn’t want – “
The woman Marinov had referred to as Liza gave a guttural
scream and Bentsen’s hand tightened on the stem of his goblet.
He kept his gaze fixed desperately on Marinov’s face.
„I believe it’s over.“ Marinov said. „More wine?“
„No, I have sufficient.“ Bentsen looked down into the clear
depths of his glass. He heard a rustle, a low masculine laugh,
and then the squeak of the bed. Mikhail moved past him
toward the bed, his stride incredibly graceful for one so large.
Bentsen took another sip of wine. When he finally looked back
at the bed, a dark-haired woman was buttoning the bodice of a
loose yellow silk robe and Nicholas Savron was slipping his
arms into a long robe of emerald velvet held by Mikhail. The
prince was a tall man, over six feet in height, but he looked
slight compared to the bearlike Kuzdief.
Nicholas didn’t bother to button the robe before he turned
to the woman, a radiant smile illuminating his face and lending
it a beguiling charm. It was the first time Bentsen had beheld
his face and he received a small shock. The man had the
indescribable beauty of a fallen angel, features nearly perfect
except for those broad Slavic cheekbones and the sensual
curve to his lower lip. The small imperfection was
overshadowed by eyes that were midnight-dark, full of
mystery and complexity. The man came closer to the ideal of
human beauty than anyone Bentsen had ever seen. My God,
no wonder the woman was gazing up at him with her lips
parted, as if sunning herself in his radiance. The prince took
her hand and kissed it lingeringly. „You were enchanting. I
look forward to the next time, Liza.“
„Yes… when?“ the dark-haired woman asked bemusedly.
„Soon.“ He kissed her hand again before releasing it and
stepping back. „Mikhail will escort you to your stateroom. I’ll
see you later in the saloon. Au revoir, ma chere.“
She blinked as if suddenly coming awake. „Uh, right.“ She
drifted toward the door. „Au rev – whatever you said.“
Mikhail ushered her out and closed the door.
„Well?“ Marinov rose to his feet.
Nicholas Savron made a face. „You win.“ He reached into
the pocket of his velvet robe and tossed Marinov a coin. „It’s
much more exciting watching such an exhibition than
performing in one. Not only did it disturb my concentration,
but I became so bored I could barely finish.“
„You never become that bored. Little Liza evidently found
it quite exciting.“
„Unless she was just pretending.“ The prince’s lips twisted
cynically. „The fair sex is miles beyond us poor males in the
practice of deceit.“
„I wouldn’t say that,“ Marinov drawled. „You treated that
pretty whore as if she were a princess. Isn’t that deceit?“
The prince laughed, his black eyes sparkling with
amusement. „Touchi. But remember, I sometimes treat
princesses as if they were whores. It all evens out.“ He
shrugged. „And besides, she had given me gifts. She asked
nothing from me this time, and a woman who asks nothing is
rare indeed. No doubt she will make up for it the next time.“
His glance shifted to Bentsen inquiringly. „And you are…?“
Bentsen stood up hurriedly. „Simon Bentsen. We’ve had
correspondence in regard to your investigation of your
cousin’s death.“
Nicholas Savron nodded, his smile fading. „I trust you’ve
come with more information than your previous emissaries,“
he said softly. „I’m becoming very impatient with your
company’s incompetence in this matter. It’s been over a year
since I received that letter from Durbin.“
„Arizona Territory is still wild country, and the Delaneys
are a powerful family,“ Bentsen said defensively. „We had to
move slowly.“
„At a snail’s pace. If I had been able to obtain the Pinkerton
Agency’s services, I doubt if they would have been as
inefficient.“
The words were biting, and Bentsen felt a chill ripple down
his spine. He considered himself a fair judge of men and he
knew he had never met one more dangerous than this velvet-
clad individual before him.
„That’s why I left St. Petersburg and came to New Orleans.
I decided it was necessary to hurry you along.“
Bentsen moistened his lips with his tongue. „I believe I
have the information you need.“
„That’s fortunate.“ Nicholas coolly examined Bent-sen’s
face. „I sincerely hope so, Mr. Bentsen.“ Without waiting for
an answer he turned and crossed the stateroom toward the
washstand against the far wall. „Take Mr. Bentsen on deck,
will you, Valentin? I think I need some fresh air. I’ll join you
shortly.“
Marinov nodded lazily. „Delighted.“ He gestured to the
door leading to the deck. „Mr. Bentsen.“
Bentsen felt the need for air, too, and took several deep
breaths as soon as the door closed behind them. He felt as if
he’d been caged with a stalking lion. Strange, before the
prince had faced and spoken to him he’d felt contemptuous of
the man with his exhibitionism, his fine velvets, and his
exquisite manners. Then, before his eyes, Savron had changed,
deepened, taken on a gleaming cutting edge.
He walked to the rail and his hands closed tightly on the
ornate wooden barrier. „His highness is an unusual man.“
Marinov’s gaze was shrewd as he strolled over to stand
beside him. „You thought Nicky was a fool?“ He shook his
head. „Only when he wants to be. You might remember that
fact. He can be quite deadly with either a sword or a pistol.“
He looked out at the still and muddy river. „Nicky’s seldom
intense about anything anymore, but he was fond of Andre. I
think you’ll find him a trifle explosive regarding the boy’s
death. I hope you don’t disappoint him this time.“
„Are you threatening me?“ Bentsen asked, astounded.
Marinov shook his head. „Warning you.“ He smiled faintly.
„I have a distaste for your hot, muggy weather here in New
Orleans. It’s been an interesting trip, but I want to go home to
St. Petersburg. Tell Nicky what he needs to know and we can
get this business over with.“
„I agree.“ Savron’s voice behind them caused both men to
turn to face him. He was dressed now in polished black boots,
a fine white linen shirt of faultless purity, and pale gray
trousers whose sleek lines over his thighs and buttocks could
be the work of only a master tailor. „Tell me what I want to
know, Bentsen.“ He moved forward, his expression as grim as
his tone was soft. „Was Dominic Delaney responsible for my
cousin’s hanging?“
„He was definitely involved in his death.“
„That isn’t what I asked you.“
Bentsen drew a deep breath. „You don’t understand. In
towns like Hell’s Bluff, people don’t talk to strangers. Our
agents had great difficulty finding out even the simplest facts.“
„I’m interested in only one fact. Did Delaney goad that
crowd into hanging Andre as Durbin’s letter states?“
„Possibly. He was there at the hanging and he paid for the
funeral.“
„Guilt?“
„Dominic Delaney doesn’t have a reputation that would
lead one to believe he has a conscience,“ Bentsen said dryly.
„He was an outlaw for almost ten years before his family
managed to buy him a pardon.“
„A criminal,“ Savron said slowly. „Then Durbin’s letter
probably was true. What did you find out about Durbin?“
Bentsen looked surprised, then uncertain. „Why… nothing.
You didn’t ask us to investigate anything but the circumstances
surrounding Andre Mar-zonoff’s death.“
A flicker of impatience touched Savron’s features. „Merde!
Do I have to spell out everything for you? Durbin must have
had his reasons for writing that letter beyond being a ‘friend of
justice’ as he called himself.“ He smiled crookedly. „A man
seldom bestirs himself for the sake of justice. It was more
likely for Durbin’s sake. Is that all you know?“
„Dominic Delaney s wife-to-be and his fifteen-year-old
niece, Silver, were present at the lynching.“
„A cozy evening of family entertainment.“ Savron’s lips
curled with distaste. „Bloodthirsty bitches. I would have
thought watching a man die by hanging would be a little too
much even for the most hardened woman. I wonder what they
would think of the guillotine.“ He frowned. „You’re giving me
damn little solid evidence on which to make a decision.“
„Decision?“
„Whether or not to kill Dominic Delaney.“ The prince’s
reply was almost casual. „I suppose I’ll have to seek the
bastard out and make my own determination. Where can I find
him?“
Bentsen shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. „We’re not
sure.“
„What?“ Savron’s voice once again held a dangerous
softness. „What do you mean, you’re not sure? I told you that
locating Delaney was of primary importance.“
„We tried,“ Bentsen said hurriedly. „He and his wife,
Elspeth, were participating in an archeological dig-in Cahokia,
Illinois, up until a few months ago. Then the excavation was
completed and the members of the party scattered. No one
seems to know where the Delaneys went from there.“ Savron’s
face was darkening more with each word, and Bentsen rushed
on quickly. „We know he didn’t return to the home ranch,
Killara, in the Arizona Territory. No one there knows of his
whereabouts.“
„We seem to know where he isn’t,“ Savron said caustically.
„What a rare pleasure it would be to know where the man is.“
„There’s one person who might know: Silver Delaney,
Dominic’s niece. She’s enrolled in a school for young ladies in
St. Louis.“
„Ah, the sweet young maiden who enjoys attending
hangings,“ Savron murmured. „I can see how he might confide
in such a sympathetic relative.“
Bentsen nodded eagerly. „Delaney and his wife visited her
regularly, and the girl spent several vacations at the dig. If
anyone would know where Dominic Delaney went, it would
be Silver Delaney.“
„Then may I ask why you didn’t send an agent to the
school to ask the young lady?“
Bentsen s glance slid away. „We did.“
„And?“
„She told him to go to hell.“
Marinov burst out laughing. „Obviously a lady of exquisite
taste and delicacy of speech. Nicky, I believe I’d like to meet
this fair flower.“
Savron smiled grimly. „I’m beginning to think you may get
your wish. The Randall Agency’s men appear to be pitifully
ineffectual.“
„Now, see here.“ Bentsen bristled indignantly. „We’re not
entirely at fault. We did find out quite a bit about the girl.“
Nicholas leaned back against the rail and folded his arms
across his chest. „Indeed? I wait with baited breath.“ –
„She’s been at Mrs. Alford’s academy for two years and
has been expelled twice. Both times the fees were doubled to
get the school to accept her back.“
„I’m hardly interested in a schoolgirl’s pranks,“ Savron
said in a bored tone. „Tell me something that will lead me to
Dominic Delaney.“
„She has a lover,“ Bentsen said triumphantly. „Perhaps
several lovers. Luke Carey, our agent, has been watching her
day and night since she refused to tell him anything. He was
hoping she’d lead him to her uncle, but every night she sneaks
out and goes to the circus.“
„Maybe she has a fondness for menageries and sideshows,“
Marinov said lazily. „I enjoy the circus myself.“
„She has a hired carriage waiting for her two blocks from
the school shortly after dark. She doesn’t come back until
three or four o’clock in the morning.“ Bentsen paused. „Carey
has seen her with several men on the circus grounds, but he
thinks it is Sebastien, the knife thrower, she goes to see.“
„You think this is of interest to me?“ Nicholas asked coldly.
„Why are you telling me this drivel?“
„It’s not drivel,“ Bentsen protested. „It might be a way to
make her tell you where her uncle is now. No lady wants her
reputation ruined by scandal.“
„Lady?“ The prince’s soft voice stung like a velvet lash. „A
bloodthirsty viper at fifteen who has developed into an
accomplished harlot at the ripe age of nineteen years? She
would laugh at a threat such as that.“
„Why don’t you let my man approach her and – “
„No!“ Savron met his gaze with sudden fierceness. „Do
nothing else. Your firm has blundered this business from start
to finish. I’ll handle the affair myself from now on.“
„But if you’ll give us the opportunity to – “
Savron made a slicing movement with the edge of his hand.
„No, it’s finished. Good day, Mr. Bentsen.“
At that moment Nicholas Savron was more imperial tsar
than landed prince, and Bentsen found himself bowing as he
backed away. „Good day, your highness, I’m sorry we – “ He
stopped. What the hell was he doing? He was an American,
dammit, and he didn’t bow to anyone. He straightened and
jammed on his hat. „We’ll expect your payment for services
rendered.“ He turned and walked away, his back straight and
the faintest hint of a swagger in his gait.
Marinov gave a low whistle. „I do believe you’ve been
subjected to lese-majeste, Nicky.“
„So it appears.“ A sudden reckless smile banished the
sternness from Nicholas’s expression. „These Americans have
no respect for a fellow’s consequence. Give a man a taste of
equality and he tries to march like a king over the face of the
earth.“
Marinov s expression sobered. „You’re safe enough here,
but a remark like that will get you sent into exile once we’re
home again. God knows I may have complained about this
