Tempting Fate (92 page)

I hope that you do find Saint-Germain, and I hope that you get him out of there. I mean that, Madelaine. How could I want you to continue feeling as wounded as you have these last weeks? You’re so dear to me that even if this man were my rival (and I will believe you when you say he is not), I would want him to be out of danger and comforted in his loss, because that is the only way I can face you honestly. If that’s selfish of me, so be it.

Be careful, Madelaine. And keep in contact with me as much as possible. I’m tempted to try to sneak into the country with you, but if I got caught, then you’d have two of us to get out of Germany, and one is enough.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

James

7

Snow had given way to a misty, sullen rain that shrouded the gray city of Berlin with the same color. The streetlights decked themselves in shimmering halos at night, and the streets glistened. Traffic was sparse on Knobelsdorffstrasse this midnight, and few people were on the narrow sidewalks, and the patrolling policeman was heartily bored as he made his rounds. He passed a couple in evening clothes, the woman tall and slender as a candle, swathed in a luxurious coat of blue fox. She was laughing at a comment her escort had made, and the policeman could tell that she was not quite sober. He touched his forehead as he went past the couple, knowing that it was unwise to bother those who were clearly hochgebornen.

“Did you see that policeman’s face?” the woman giggled, pressing close to her companion. “He was scandalized.”

“I was looking at you, Nillel, and did not see the policeman,” Ragoczy said with automatic courtesy that was as sincere as her smile.

“You’re always being so amusing!” she declared, reaching over to tweak his earlobe. “You always make me laugh.” She proved this with a demonstration. Nillel was very proud of her laugh, which was watery and musical at once.

“How fortunate,” Ragoczy said quietly as he indicated the turning for Glänzend Strasse. “We have almost arrived.”

“I’m thrilled!” She turned toward him and put her arms around his neck. “You’re so good to me, Mein Graf. I am getting so spoiled by your attentions.”

He agreed with her, but gave the protestations that were expected of him. “Nothing could spoil what you are, Nillel.”

She kissed him with more enthusiasm than accuracy, and when she had finished, she stepped back from him so that she would be able to see his face. “Isn’t it wonderful, how well things have worked out between us?”

Ragoczy knew what was coming next, and so he kept his peace. As they crossed the street, he held her arm firmly, but without too much force. “Be careful. The stones are slippery.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said as she took the opportunity to lean more heavily against him. Her coat was too gorgeously thick to let her press the curve of her breast into his arm, which had been a useful ploy in the past. “I hardly know how to begin,” she said with an expression she had been told was adorable.

“At the beginning, perhaps.” They entered Glänzend Strasse, which was not as well-lit as Knobelsdorffstrasse. The street had been laid in a time when carriages, not automobiles, frequented the district, and for that reason it was hot at all wide. The sounds of their footsteps echoed off the high, imposing fronts of the houses on both sides of the street.

“I like your house, Mein Graf,” Nillel whispered in an exaggerated way.

“I’m sure you do,” he said, thinking that it was one of the few things she had told him that was unquestionably the truth.

“There’s so much in your house that’s beautiful. It’s remarkable.” She clung to his arm as they trod up the steps to the front door.

“Danke,” he said as he felt his pockets for the key. He was sorry now that he had told his staff that they need not wait up for him, because he did not want to spend much time alone with this woman. She had been amusing, and her blatant avarice had been mildly entertaining for a time, but he no longer wished to deal with her. The present of a diamond-laden necklace should serve as a proper farewell gift, as the coat had been given in token for her coming to his bed the first time. He turned the key in the lock, and the door swung inward.

“I can’t get over how nice your house smells. How do you do it?” She stood in the entry hall, her coat still clutched around her shoulders, her heavily made-up eyes turned greedily on the Sixteenth-Century highboy on the far wall.

“Bowls of dried orange peel and cloves are set out around the house,” he said distractedly as he noticed that there was a light on in his study, just down the hall. Roger had not said he intended to be up when he returned, and none of the staff had been interested in using his quarters at any time. He thought of the men who had been following him since the previous autumn and wondered if they had at last gained entrance to his home. If that were the case, he would have to dismiss his servants and hire new ones, which was most annoying. He glanced at Nillel. “Would you like me to take your coat?”

She held it more tightly. “Oh, no. It’s a bit chilly here, don’t you think?”

Ragoczy knew how little she liked to part with the coat, and so he did not challenge her. “If you will excuse me a moment, there is something I must check on.”

“Oh, let me come with you!” She raised her voice to an unpleasant shriek. “I
love
to go sneaking about in the dark.”

He would have preferred her to remain where she was, but could not request it without getting into yet another minor dispute with her. “If you like. It may not be amusing, however.”

“Do you think it’s a thief? My brother once caught his valet taking his best cufflinks. There was a trial and everything.” She had not lowered her voice.

“We might do better if we make less noise,” he suggested as he preceded her down the hall, half-expecting to see the door open and a figure, run off. “Stay behind me, Nillel. If there is a thief in the room, he may be armed. I would not want you to be hurt.”

“A thief wouldn’t shoot me,” she tittered, pretending to tiptoe toward the closed door with the sliver of light at the bottom.

“How trusting you are,” he whispered, thinking that whatever element of surprise he might have had was gone. He motioned her to keep back, and moved silently up to the door. He had long ago developed the ability to walk so softly that he was virtually inaudible. Now he was grateful for the skill. Very carefully he reached out and turned the knob, letting the door open on its own weight.

“Oh! Is it a thief!” Nillel crowed, rushing forward eagerly.

“No,” Ragoczy said in a strange voice. “No.”

On the far side of the room was an overstuffed leather-upholstered chair, and in it sat Madelaine de Montalia in a simple, ravishingly-beautiful dress one or two shades lighter than the violet of her eyes. Her dark hair was swept onto her head in a kind of loose knot and was held in place with three jeweled combs. She looked directly at Ragoczy.

“Mon coeur,” he said, his voice so hushed that his breath was louder.

“Saint-Germain,” she answered.

“Gracious!” Nillel declared from the door as she pushed into the study. “How deliciously intriguing! Does she want you to give a name to the baby?”

Ragoczy paled at her words, and Madelaine pursed her mouth with distaste. “Has your grief done this to you, my dearest?”

“In part.” He spoke in French. “So long as one is lavish with money and gifts, she is more than willing to fulfill any reasonable expectations. She would probably not object too strenuously if we were to lie with her at the same time.”

“Saint-Germain!” She sounded more hurt than affronted, and that alone chagrined Ragoczy.

“It isn’t fair of you to speak French when I do not know any of it. You’re cruel to me, Mein Graf,” Nillel pouted as prettily as she could. “Who is this person? Your wife? Your Graffin? You have not mentioned her to me.”

“No, not my wife: not my wife.” He recovered a bit. “A blood relative.”

“How strange!” Nillel stared across the room at Madelaine, her face a mask, her eyes calculating. “Do you want to have him? He’s very sensual, my dear. You understand why I’m telling you this? Sensual men, of course, prefer experience. They like a woman who is as sensual as they are.” She let herself laugh as she approached Madelaine. “How young you are. You think your youth is enough? You’ve fallen in love with your disreputable uncle, haven’t you. And now you’re horrified to see what he’s really like, coming in late at night with a woman. He’s a good lover, the Graf, but limited, very limited in his way. You have a good grasp of Deutsch, haven’t you? You know what I’m telling you.”

“I hear you, Fräulein,” Madelaine said in heavily French-accented German.

“How charming. Very delightful. And for those with a taste for simplicity, no doubt you would be a rare morsel. It may be that your uncle would be the one to appreciate you.” She gave Ragoczy a quick glance. “He’s hardly debauched at all, though he is a bit decadent. There are places in Berlin I could show you where he would be thought quaintly naive. And you, well, you would be laughed out of the room.”

“I’ve seen too much decadence to be amused by it, Fräulein,” Madelaine said sadly as she looked steadily at Nillel. “Light and dark exist side by side, do they not?”

“You French take such great pride in your sins!” She put a hand out to touch Madeline’s shoulder. “What does a dab of a girl like you know about sins?”

“More than you think,” Madelaine answered quietly, her eyes now on Ragoczy.

“From books, no doubt. And your prurient imagination. Did you go to a very strict school? Did the girls all talk about nastiness at night when the lights were out? Did you peek in the showers to see if the other girls had pubic hair yet? So much for your sins.” Belatedly Nillel realized her careful facade had slipped and some of the acid in her had been visible. She hastened to repair the damage this might have done. There was no saying how Ragoczy would feel about his pretty French niece. There was something between them; the air was thick with it. She swayed artistically, as if the drinks she had had were catching up with her. “Himmel, Mein Graf. I thought that by now we would have … retired for the night. I grow impatient for you.” She turned and touched his face. “Never mind about this child. She will be here in the morning, and you may make your explanations then. It is time she learned that grown-ups need to be by themselves.” She was not able to resist the urge to look over her shoulder at Madelaine, a smile of malicious satisfaction on her red, red, mouth.

“Nillel,” Ragoczy said in a low, even voice, though he now looked only at Madelaine and not at her, “leave us.”

“Leave? What?” Her superbly languid eyes were wide with disbelief and irritation. “I won’t! You’re indulging her for no reason. I’m relaxed, Mein Graf, so … relaxed. It would be a shame to waste the night when I feel this way.”

At last Ragoczy glanced at her. “You will leave, you know. Roger will see you have a taxi and the proper fare. You do not wish me to carry you from the room, do you?”

When she laughed this time there was no beauty in the sound, only harsh derision. “You couldn’t. You’re too small and too old. And you wouldn’t! It isn’t grand enough for you.” But she gave him no chance to show her the contrary. She turned on her high, elegant heel and flung out of the room with a shocking curse. The door slammed behind her, and a bit later she could be heard shouting for Roger and screaming insults at Ragoczy.

It was still in the study. Madelaine remained standing by the chair she had been sitting in; Ragoczy kept his place by the door. Neither of them spoke until they heard the front door close.

“Why her?” Madelaine asked. “What did she give you? She is…”

“Venal? Greedy? Perverse? Ah, but she does like to think that she is the master and I am her slave. She has the most intense orgasms because she thinks that I cannot, and that serves my purposes very well. I’ve never told her otherwise.” They were speaking French again, with old-fashioned, aristocratic accents.

“Is it enough?” Madelaine asked.

“Of course not But what else is there? What else can I endure?” He gave the ghost of a sigh. “You should not have come,”

“I had no choice.” She had known it would be difficult to see him, but she had not anticipated the anguish she would feel at the sight of him, or the tenderness he would rouse in her.

“Why
did
you come? How did you find me? I thought I had been hard to follow.” He moved away from the door, but not much closer to her. Both of them avoided the appearance of touching.

“I was worried about you. Irina sent me word a few months ago, and when I read what she had to say, I was afraid for you. So I came back to France and began to make inquiries.” She was able to keep her tone flat but not entirely emotionless.

“And how did Irina come to … Nikolai! Of course.” He touched his forehead and looked down at his elegant dancing shoes. “Do they know where I am?”

“They know you are in Germany. They do not know specifically where.” She followed him with her eyes, but made no move in his direction.

“And how did you find me? You haven’t explained that yet.” He studied her intently for a few seconds, then gazed down at his shoes once more.

“I didn’t. My American friend, the journalist I told you about when we met in Switzerland, wired some of his colleagues, asking about you. One of them located you and sent the information to James, who passed it to me. You haven’t been precisely invisible, I hear.”

“I see.”

She felt her nerves falter, and forced herself to go on. “He learned some other things, as well; they disturbed him.”

Ragoczy went to the window and stared out at the street below, seeing the same dark Benz parked at the end of the block that he had seen there every night. A distant streetlight cast a fuzzy blue glare through the Austrian lace curtains, bleaching his features to an unearthly white. One hand was in his pocket; the other lifted one of the curtains so that he could see the automobile more plainly. “You want to tell me that I’m being followed.”

“Then you know.” She felt so defeated as she said that.