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 chère.”
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. “Touchè. 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 Bentsen’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 André. 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 André 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 André Marzonoff’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 lèse-majesté, 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 heat, but I won’t promise to follow you to Siberia if the tsar decides to curb that wild tongue of yours.”
Nicholas’s smile deepened. “It might be worth it. Siberia could be a welcome change. St. Petersburg has been abysmally boring of late. I used to be able to bear it when I knew I could go back to the Kuban, but not …” He trailed off, his dark eyes gazing broodingly down at the waters below him. “Maybe I’ll pay a visit to court when this is all over.”
“Good God, why?” Marinov asked, startled. “You hate life at court.”
“I don’t know. It’s as good a place as any other in which to be bored. Perhaps …” He shrugged impatiently. “But that’s in the future. Now we have to find Dominic Delaney.”
“You think he’s to blame for André’s death?”
“Who knows?” Nicholas said wearily. “But I’m here to find out and I won’t go home until I do.” His hand clenched violently on the wooden rail. “Why the hell did he go to a primitive place like Hell’s Bluff? What a fool he was.”
“But you loved him,” Marinov said quietly.
“He was my cousin.” Nicholas was silent a moment. “Damn, he was as clumsy as a big puppy and I can’t remember how many scrapes I had to get him out of, but he had a good heart. He didn’t deserve to be hanged in a land so far from home.”
“I take it we go to this St. Louis to question the young woman? She doesn’t sound as if she would willingly tell you anything.” Valentin’s eyes twinkled. “Except the same advice she gave Mr. Bentsen’s agent.”
“She’ll tell me.” Nicholas turned away from the rail. “Come along. Let’s go find Robert and inform him that he’s going to get the opportunity to beat the Robert E. Lee’s record to St. Louis. You recall how enthusiastic he was in the telling of that tale. How long did he say it took? Four days?”
“A little less, I think.” Valentin fell into step with him. “Our celebration is over, I assume.”
“Why? I’m sure we’ll need amusement on the trip. We’ll ask our guests to go along.” Nicholas’s ebony eyes were suddenly gleaming. “Don’t you think that’s a fine idea?”
“Lee Bassinger too?”
“You object? He’s not exactly charming, but he may improve upon acquaintance.”
“You know damn well he’s a dangerous man. He’s a vicious bastard, and he didn’t like losing this pleasure barge to you. It was the pride of his fleet of riverboats.”
“All the more reason to invite him. It will make the journey more interesting.”
Valentin slowly shook his head, but said nothing. There was no use remonstrating with Nicholas when he was in such a mood. The streak of wildness that had always been a part of him had been growing steadily of late, and arguing only triggered more extravagant behavior. “You realize the journey could all be for nothing? What if Delaney’s niece refuses to tell you where her uncle has gone?”
“There are always ways of handling vipers.” Nicholas suddenly threw back his head and laughed. He clapped Valentin on the shoulder. “Stop frowning, my friend. She’s young, a schoolgirl. It will take no time at all to get the information from her. Silver Delaney will pose no problem for me.”
Where in hell had the blasted girl gone?
Luke Carey carefully moved from the shadows of the high stone wall to a beech tree closer to the three-story building that housed Mrs. Alford’s Select Academy for Young Ladies, his gaze searching the darkness.
She had to be somewhere on the grounds. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of the Delaney girl
as she had slipped from the sill of her third-floor chamber to the branch of an oak tree and begun her usual agile descent to the garden below. Then, somehow, he had lost sight of her after she had reached the ground. One moment she had been there, and the next she had faded into the shadows. Maybe he should—
A strong arm encircled him from the rear and jerked his neck back sharply. The sharp point of a dagger pricked his throat.
“Don’t move!” The voice behind him was low and fierce. “Or I’ll slice your gullet like a chicken for Sunday dinner.”
Carey froze, his heart pounding so hard he could almost hear it in the darkness. “I’m not moving,” he said hoarsely. He swallowed. “Will you shift that knife an inch or so? I’m scared to breathe.”
“Soon.” The knife remained pressed against the hollow of his throat. “When you tell me what I want to know.”
It was the Delaney girl, he realized with amazement. Though the tone was fierce, her voice held the same melodious, bell-like womanliness as that of the schoolgirl who had damned him to perdition three weeks ago in Mrs. Alford’s prim parlor.
He found himself unconsciously relaxing. “Now, Miss Delaney, you’re being a little hasty. You don’t want to—” A fresh ripple of fear surged through him as the dagger drew blood.
“How do you know what I want to do? You know nothing about me except what you’ve discovered by spying on me. Did you think I didn’t realize you were following me?” Her tone was edged with scorn. “An elephant couldn’t have been more clumsy about hiding his sign. You wouldn’t last two days on the trail. The only reason I put up with it was to see how long you’d keep at it when you saw I wouldn’t lead you to Dominic.”