The Golden Valkyrie (14 page)

“Garfield,” he repeated in wonder. And suddenly he began to laugh. “My Lord, Garfield!”

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. It wasn’t enough that this maddening man had been growling at her like a surly lion; now he actually had the gall to laugh at her!

Her fury only seemed to amuse him more, for he now dissolved in laughter as he gazed at her cross face and belligerent stance. “I fail to see what’s so amusing,” she said icily.

“I’ve never had a cat leer at me from the breast of a Valkyrie with such a royal bearing,” he gasped, wiping his eyes on a fold of the sheet. “You’ll forgive me if it struck me as funny.”

“I’m not the one who’s royal,” she spat, her violet eyes flashing. “I’m just a poor humble serf. It’s Your Highness who has the privilege of being rude and sulky and abusive and completely unreasonable!” She was practically sputtering by the time she finished, and was pacing restlessly back and forth. “And besides that, you’re trying to starve me to death!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his blue eyes dancing. “I can see that last sin outweighs all the others.” His lips curved in a tender smile. “Come back to bed, Honey. I want to see if that pussycat knows how to purr as well as spit at me.”

“If I did, I’d be tempted to do more than spit,” she said through her teeth, turning and striding furiously toward the door.

Her hand had only closed around the knob when she felt herself being scooped up and carried kicking and struggling back to the bed. She was dropped on the counterpane, and he immediately followed her down, pinning her arms above her head and throwing a hard thigh over her flailing legs to hold her immobile. “Now,” he said, smiling down at her furious face. “Purr for me, Honey.”

It was too much after all she’d gone through tonight. Two tears suddenly brimmed and ran slowly down her face.

They had a galvanic effect on the man grinning impishly down at her. He stiffened as if she’d struck him, and his face looked almost frightened. “No!” he ordered sharply. “Don’t do that to me. Stop it, do you hear?”

She didn’t know what he meant, but there was seemingly no way she could stop the tears, now that they had started. “Nothing you could do would make me cry,” she said fiercely. “I’m just angry.”

“That’s what I wanted, but you weren’t supposed to cry,” he said accusingly. His eyes were haunted as he looked down at her. “You musn’t do that, damn it. You’ll ruin everything.”

She stared up at him in complete bewilderment. He was totally irrational. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said tremulously. “You’re not making sense.”

“Never mind!” he said huskily. “It’s too late now anyway. I can feel myself breaking into a hundred pieces inside.” She was released with dizzying suddenness, and his arms went around her in a bone-crushing embrace that almost squeezed the breath out of her. He rolled over, holding her in a clasp that was curiously sexless, for all its possessive strength. “Don’t move. Don’t say anything. Just let me hold you. Okay?”

“All right,” she answered faintly. Her anger had vanished when she’d heard that first note of desperation in his voice. She couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to, so convulsive was that iron grasp. “Lance?” she asked uncertainly. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything would have been fine if you hadn’t cried,” he muttered throatily into her hair. “I could have held it off until you went to sleep.”

“Held what off?” Honey asked bewilderedly. Then, incredibly, she thought she was beginning to understand. His body was shaking and trembling against her like that of a malaria victim. “My God, Lance, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“I’m sick, all right,” he growled with a short mirthless laugh. “I’m so scared, I feel like I’m going to fall apart. I’ve been frightened out of my mind since we first discovered you were gone tonight.” His arms tightened. “Why the hell didn’t you come to us instead of running off on your own? Do you know what kind of risk you ran going back to the cottage in a storm like that? You almost died, damn it. You had no right to take a chance like that over something as trivial as those lousy paintings.”

“They’re not lousy,” she denied automatically. “They’re as brilliant as your other work. I guess I didn’t think about anything but saving the paintings, when I found they weren’t with the others.”

“Why the hell would you do something so incredibly stupid for a few daubs of paint on the canvas?” he asked throatily.

“They were part of you,” she said simply. “I couldn’t let them be destroyed.” Her lips brushed back and forth caressingly on the tautness of his cheek. Her tone was gently teasing as she continued, “I was hired to guard you, remember? I’d have been remiss in my duty if I’d let anything happen to such an important part of your life.”

“So you almost destroyed yourself instead,” he said fiercely.

“I knew there wasn’t much time.” She was fighting to free herself from his embrace. It was terrible to feel so helpless when she wanted so desperately to hold him in her arms and comfort him. Then her arms were sliding around him and drawing him even closer with a fierce possessiveness.

“You were right there,” he said bitterly. “Ten minutes later, and you wouldn’t have stood a chance. I knew when we were racing down that hill after you that the odds were you’d already been swept away, that I might never see you again. I nearly went crazy,” he whispered huskily. The words were muffled, but they held an odd note of wonder. “You cared that much about them?”

“I cared that much,” she answered quietly. She was stroking his hair with an almost maternal tenderness. “Don’t you think it’s time to admit that you feel the same way about your work? You know it would have torn you apart to have anything happen to those paintings.”

He raised his head, and she inhaled sharply as she saw the torment in his face and the blazing emotion in his sapphire eyes. “It wasn’t worth risking you,” he said fiercely. “Nothing’s worth that. Promise you’ll never do a thing like that again.”

Honey felt a sudden surge of joy that was like the warmth of home fires burning bright. “I promise,” she said thickly, blinking back the tears.

His head lowered slowly, until he was just a breath away. “I’ve never felt like that before,” he said softly. “I’ve always been able to hide behind laughter and cynicism when anything has come too close to me. But it wouldn’t work tonight, Honey.” He kissed her with such lingering sweetness that she felt her throat ache with tenderness. “You’ve become too important to me. I don’t think I could stand it if I lost you now.” He buried his face once more in the thick silk of her hair. “Honey?”

“Yes?” she answered dreamily. Surely that last inarticulate murmur could be considered something of a commitment?

His words were oddly jerky. “If it means that much to you, I’ll have a show.” He heard her sharply indrawn breath, and went on quickly. “But you’ve got to promise to stay with me after we leave the island. I won’t go through that phony charade alone.” His voice was tinged with bitterness. “I know you look on this little island idyll as a purely temporary liaison, but if you want me to exhibit, you’ll have to restrain your eagerness to get back to your sleuthing.”

Where had he gotten the absurd idea that she was eager to leave him? She vaguely remembered making some comment that she didn’t expect any permanence in their relationship but that had been to lessen
his
feeling of responsibility.

“But Lance—” she started, but he quickly raised his head and covered her lips with his own.

“No, you can’t talk me out of it,” he said when he lifted his head. “You’ll have to stay and give me moral support or it’s no go.”

“Well, I suppose I do have a responsibility to the art world,” she said liltingly, her lips curving in an impish grin. “I guess I could stick around and hold your hand until you see how right I am and how absurdly stupid you’ve been. Who’s going to care a hundred years from now if you were a prince or a ditch digger, when those experts are gazing raptly at your paintings in the Louvre?”

“Who indeed?” Lance echoed, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We’ll be lolling on adjoining clouds, and you’ll look down and nudge me and say: ‘See, I told you so.’”

“I hate people who say, I told you so,” Honey said, making a face at him. “I’d never be so crass.” Then her face sobered. “You won’t be sorry, Lance.”

“I’m glad one of us is so confident,” he said wryly. “I guess only time will tell which one of us is right. I’ll let Alex know that he can make arrangements with the Parke-Bernet Galleries. He’s been after me for years. At least he’ll be happy.”

“Because he has the good sense to recognize genius when he sees it,” Honey replied promptly. “And, like all good businessmen, he abhors a wasted talent.”

“So do I,” Lance said, his eyes twinkling. “Which is why I have no intention of wasting yours, sweetheart.” His hand reached up to weigh her breast in his palm. “Are you sure you’re hungry?” he asked wistfully.

“I’m sure,” she said emphatically, despite the tiny responsive thrill she was feeling at his touch.

“I was afraid you were,” he said morosely. “I guess we’d better go down and raid that refrigerator. It’s obvious you’re not going to let me seduce you until I satisfy the inner woman.” He gave her a teasing kiss, his face alight with laughter. “And then, my love, I’m going to make sure that the inner woman satisfies me!”

SEVEN

T
HE SUN WAS
shining brightly, and Honey felt as if she were glowing with a brilliance that could rival its warmth, as she skipped out on the terrace and took her place at the table.

Alex glanced up from the official-looking document he’d been examining with a scowl, and his expression relaxed into a warm smile that miraculously softened the hardness of his features. “Well, good morning. I take it that all is well with your world this fine day?” he drawled, throwing the paper carelessly on the breakfast table beside his plate. He reached for the coffee carafe and poured her coffee and refilled his own cup. “Where’s Lance this morning?”

“Justine is taking some coffee up to that improvised studio you created for him,” Honey said, taking a sip of her coffee. “He wanted to get to work changing the background of my portrait to a storm setting.” She smiled mischievously at him. “He was most displeased with you for not having the cottage cleaned up by now so that we could move back down to the beach. He says the light is much better there.”

“Ungrateful wretch,” Alex said. “It’s only been three days since the storm, and the cottage was a complete disaster. We don’t have unlimited manpower on this island, you know. Nate’s working as fast as he can.”

“I know,” Honey said tranquilly, reaching for a warm croissant and buttering it liberally. “And so does Lance, when he thinks about it. He’s just impatient to get on with his work.” She looked up, violet eyes dancing. “He has great respect for your drive and initiative and wishes you’d channel a little toward the cottage cleanup.”

Alex shook his head wryly. “I suppose I’ll have to phone the mainland and have some help flown out. I learned a long time ago that that red-haired demon refuses to give up when he wants something.” One dark brow arched mockingly. “I guess you’ve discovered that too.”

Honey felt the warm color surge to her cheeks. “Yes,” she answered quietly, her eyes glowing softly. “I’ve found that out.”

There was a curiously gentle flicker in the face of the man opposite her before it was masked by the usual guarded cynicism. “You may tell Lance that I’ll be as glad to get rid of him as he will be to go,” he said lightly. “It’s not easy for a man of my proclivities to be odd man out in this garden of Eden the two of you have created for yourselves.”

Honey’s eyes flew up to meet his. “Have we made you feel that?” she asked, stricken. “Alex, I’m so sorry. How rude you must think us.”

“Not rude, just crazy about each other,” Alex said dryly. “I can’t fault your manners.” He pulled a face. “Though Lance could have been a little less blatantly content in front of a man in my celibate state. I’m not used to being an observer instead of a participant.”

That was definitely an understatement, from what Lance had told her of Alex’s marathon sexual activities. He was extremely highly sexed, and required a woman more often than most. Honey had been so involved with her own concerns that she had never questioned why Alex had voluntarily arranged his stay at Londale’s Folly with no willing female to alleviate the abstinence of the past weeks. It must have been as difficult as he’d said, to watch Lance and her together.

“We’ve been very selfish and inconsiderate, haven’t we, Alex? Will you forgive us?” Honey asked contritely.

“I will,” he said with a mocking grin. “But only because my ordeal is finally at an end. I’ve imported some company for myself for a few days.” He glanced casually at his watch. “In fact, the helicopter should be arriving any minute now.”

“Company?” Honey asked, puzzled. Then she felt a chill of apprehension run through her. “The baroness?”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Bettina? Good heavens, no! The redhead from the Starburst.”

Honey relaxed and grinned teasingly. “Oh yes, the inventive one who’s really a Scandinavian blonde. Does she have a name?”

“Leona Martell,” he supplied, rising to his feet. “Would you like to come down to the landing pad and meet her?”

“Why not?” she asked. She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Lance won’t even miss me until this afternoon, when he finishes the background.”

“Then I’ll take advantage of your charming company while I may,” Alex said, gesturing grandly for her to precede him.

Leona Martell was certainly as alluring as Alex had said, Honey thought a little later as she watched him place his hands on the waist of the tiny but voluptuous redhead to swing her out of the helicopter to the pad. Redhead or not, she appeared to be as passionate as even the most demanding man might require, melting into Alex’s arms and pulling his head down to kiss him lingeringly.

Alex was more than enthusiastic in returning the embrace, Honey observed with amusement. When he did lift his head to see her grinning at him, he pulled the redhead closer and winked impishly over the top of her head. Honey giggled irrepressibly, and Alex’s smile widened as he turned the redhead around to introduce her.

“Honey, I’d like you to meet Leona Martell. Honey Winston, Leona,” he said as he waved permission to the helicopter pilot to take off. “Leona is a law student at Rice University, Honey.”

“How do you do, Miss Martell,” Honey said politely, over the roar of the rotors as the pilot started the engine. If this gorgeous redhead was a law student, then she must be an extremely well-to-do one. Those sky-blue slacks and ecru silk blouse practically screamed haute couture, and her rich red, curly hair had been styled and cut by a master.

The admiration was evidently mutual, for Honey’s words were acknowledged with a distinctly vague pleasantry, while the redhead wistfully eyed Honey’s long, silver blond hair. “My hair used to be almost that color,” she said. “People used to stop and stare at me in the street.”

“I’m sure they still do,” Honey said politely. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Miss Martell. Many men prefer redheads, no matter what they say in the song.”

“I’ll vouch for that,” Alex said, carelessly touching a shimmering red curl at her nape.

To Honey’s amazement, the remark was met by a bitterly resentful glance. It was so swift that it only flickered and then was gone, replaced by a dulcet sweetness. “Then that’s all that’s important, darling,” Leona said softly. “I only recently had it done, and I suppose I’m not used to it yet. I’ve been trying to decide whether to keep it.” She turned with a forced smile to Honey. “What do you think?” she asked brightly. “Would you dye that lovely hair, Miss Winston?”

Honey shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she said quietly. “But then, I couldn’t afford to keep it as lovely as yours.”

Alex’s arm slid around the redhead’s waist. “Let’s go up to the house and persuade Justine to make us a fresh pot of coffee,” he suggested softly, his dark gaze lingering intimately on her. He glanced up at Honey inquiringly. “Honey?”

She shook her head ruefully. She had an idea that Alex had more than coffee on his mind at the moment, and that she might find herself very much a third wheel. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I believe I’ll go down to the cottage and see what progress Nate is making on the cleanup. I’ll see you at lunch, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Alex echoed in a silken murmur that caused Honey to smother a grin as she waved cheerfully and set off down the path to the beach.

She had no intention of going down to the cottage and harrying poor Nate. It was very likely that Alex had been giving him a difficult enough time in the past few days. It was almost an hour later, when she was strolling barefoot in the cove, that she saw the ship. At first she thought it was a trick of the light. The dazzle of the sun on the water sometimes created strange mirages. Honey stopped and shaded her eyes curiously, expecting to see a cargo ship or tanker on its way to Houston’s ship channel. Her brow creased in a puzzled frown. Surely that white dot on the horizon was too small to be either of those. It looked more like a small launch, and it didn’t seem to be moving. It appeared to be rocking gently on the quiet waves as if it were at anchor. As if it were waiting. She tried to shake off the uneasiness that flooded her as she turned and began to walk slowly back toward the path that led to the Folly. How foolish to get upset over a launch that would probably be gone in an hour or two. It was more than likely just an innocent fishing party.

Yet it was an odd coincidence that the launch should anchor here, at the only cove that offered access to the island. A little too odd. Honey’s stride quickened instinctively, keeping pace with her thoughts. That was the second out-of-the-ordinary occurrence today. First had been the arrival of Leona Martell, and now the launch waiting on the horizon. Waiting for what?

There couldn’t be a connection, could there? Leona Martell had come at Alex’s invitation. Still, something nagged at Honey. There was something not quite right about Leona Martell. Honey had been subconsciously aware of something amiss since she’d met her.

She skidded to a halt and inhaled sharply. Her hair! It was obvious that Leona Martell had liked being a blonde. Her expression had been frankly envious when she’d seen Honey’s hair, and then there had been that strange resentful glance she had thrown at Alex. Why would a natural blonde who was very well satisfied with her coloring suddenly dye her hair red?

“Oh, my God!” Honey breathed, her eyes widening in horror. Then she was flying up the path to the Folly. She burst through the front door and took the steps to the second floor two at a time and then dashed down the corridor to the improvised studio where Lance was working.

He looked up vaguely as she burst into the room. “Lance,” she said, trying to get breath enough to speak. “Alex told me once that almost everyone in your immediate circle knew of his passion for redheads, that it was practically a standing joke. Is that true?”

“What?” he asked absently, his gaze returning to the easel. “Yes, of course it’s true.”

“Oh, no!” she moaned frantically, and turned and raced from the room and down the corridor to Alex’s room. How criminally stupid of her not to have made the connection at once. Since she’d come to the island, she had forgotten everything but Lance. She’d even been rocked by the blissful serenity of their relationship into forgetting her purpose for being here. She prayed that she’d remembered in time.

She burst into Alex’s room and frantically scanned the apparently empty master suite, before she noticed the door ajar at the far end of the room. There was only the sound of running water, yet it was enough to send a chill through her. How terribly easy it would be to drown in a bathtub a man who was exposed and vulnerable. Had it happened already? She tore across the bedroom and threw open the door.

Alex was lying in the center of a huge, blue-veined marble sunken tub that could well have graced one of his ancestor’s seraglios, and he looked up in stunned amazement as Honey bolted into the room.

Honey gave him a quick, relieved glance, her attention concentrated on the woman on top of him.

“No!” she cried sharply, and the redhead looked over her shoulder with the same shocked surprise Alex had shown. But she only had time for that one glance, before Honey jumped into the tub with them. She grabbed Leona quickly in a neck lock and jerked her away from Alex with one swift motion.

“Honey, for God’s sake, stop it!” Alex shouted, struggling into a sitting position.

She paid no attention, for the redhead was struggling with surprising strength for one who appeared so fragile, and Honey needed all her expertise to subdue her. Who would have believed a nude body could be so slippery? It was like trying to handle a greased pig.

“Honey, so help me God, I’m going to murder you,” Alex roared. “Let her go, damn it.”

There was only one way to put an end to this. She spun the redhead around and stepped back a pace for leverage and then followed through with a right cross to the woman’s jaw.

The redhead gave a guttural grunt, and her blue eyes slowly glazed over. Honey caught her as she started to slump, and heaved her out of the water onto the marble floor.

“Damn you, Honey,” Alex groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. “Why the hell didn’t you listen to me?”

“I can’t talk right now, Alex,” she said, levering herself out of the tub. “I’ve got to find something to tie her up with before she regains consciousness.” She was gone before he could answer, but returned an instant later with a cord she’d appropriated from one of the drapes in the bedroom. She efficiently secured the woman’s hands behind her back, then turned to Alex with a grin. “She must have a glass jaw; she’s still out like a light.”

Alex was gazing at the woman’s unconscious form with dark, mournful eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that, Honey,” he said sadly.

“But you don’t understand, Alex,” Honey said briskly, reaching over to pick up a towel from the rack above the tub. She began to dry her legs. Then, as an afterthought, she threw a towel modestly over the redhead’s lax, naked body. “She wasn’t what she seemed at all. I’m almost sure she’s a part of the assassination plot against you and Lance.”

“So am I,” Alex said gloomily, his eyes still on the redhead. “I suspected it from the first night at the Starburst.”