Legends Page 13

  “Yo ho ho,” she intoned dryly.

  He felt like a fool.

  In the library he showed her a ten-million-dollar painting by a leading Impressionist, an artist his investment brokers had urged him to collect. “Very nice,” she commented. “But couldn’t you afford a Monet?”

  Then she went to his bookcases and scruntinized a few of the titles. “Now here are the real interests of Douglas Kincaid,” she announced, tapping the books with a fingertip. “Biographies of ruthless men who made a great deal of money.”

  “Yeah, I’m a real monster,” he growled. “Check the psychology books on the other wall. My favorite is I’m Okay—You’re Poor.”

  He hauled her to the fifty-person movie theater and pointed out the concession stand outfitted with a wine rack. He took her to the largest of the formal dining rooms so that she could admire a table of glass and burnished wicker that would seat a hundred. He led her down the large hallway that ran the width of the house, hoping to impress her with the rare parrots who squawked hello from their 14-karat gold perches and preened in the sunlight from arched windows set in whitewashed stone.

  “Such a pleasant home,” Elgiva observed quaintly. “For a man who has no wife or children to keep him good company in it.”

  “To hell with good company,” he shot back. “I have you.”

  He took her outdoors and drove her around the island in one of the shiny white Jeeps, pointing out the man-made lagoon with its waterfall, the gardens ablaze in tropical color, the clusters of coconuts in the palms along the beach, the guest homes, and assorted private pools.

  She expressed enthusiasm only when she saw the goats and cows grazing in pretty pastures on the hillsides. “You need some nice sheep here, Douglas,” she noted. “To keep all these jungle plants nibbled down.”

  Annoyed but amused, he continued on. Douglas guided the Jeep around the base of terraced hills planted in fruit trees. A minute later he parked at the island’s tiny bay, where a three-masted sailing yacht and various smaller vessels were anchored at a long dock.

  She read aloud the names on their bows. Kincaid’s Prize, Kincaid’s Winner, Kincaid’s Big Deal, Kincaid’s Ace. Then she turned toward him, squinting innocently in the afternoon sunshine. “Do you intend to stencil your name somewhere on my bow?”

  “Yes,” he retorted. “Kincaid’s Big Mistake.” She chuckled at that.

  By the time they returned to the villa he was ready to chew his tongue. “Hot?” he asked with devilish pleasure, watching her tug at the neck of her black wool sweater. Wisps of damp chestnut hair had escaped from her braid and clung to her forehead. She looked flushed and sexy as hell, but he knew she was miserable. He was roasting in his own cold-weather clothes, but he wouldn’t admit it.

  “A wee bit warm, yes,” she acknowledged. She arched a brow. “You didn’t let me bring along any clothes. What can I wear now?”

  “You’ll be naked most of the time, so it won’t matter.”

  She stiffened proudly but her eyes revealed abject concern. “You’re not going to make a mockery of the wonderful feelings that happened between us, are you?”

  “How would I do that?”

  Her gaze held his without teasing or challenge. “By taking me to bed just to be spiteful. Just to prove that I have to do anything you want.”

  He resisted an urge to draw her into his arms and erase the devastated look from her eyes. Trying hard to remain impassive, he said gruffly, “Whatever happens will be something you want too.” With growing dismay he added, “Did you think I was going to lock you in my bedroom and give you orders? Do you think I’m capable of doing that?”

  She shook her head. “But you have more subtle ways of getting what you want. A man doesn’t have to squeeze the bagpipes hard if he knows how to coax the music from them gently.”

  Douglas stared at her in droll consternation. “I haven’t had much luck up to now. I’ve gotten a lot of horrible squawks.”

  She curled her hands around his forearm and gazed intently into his eyes. “What do you want of me here, Douglas? What am I supposed to do?”

  “Stop pretending that you’re unfazed by luxury. Relax. Let yourself be pampered. Give my life a chance.”

  She looked shocked. “And then?”

  “After I settle the purchase of the MacRoth estate, we’ll talk about ‘And then.’ ”

  “But you could buy the estate right away, if you wanted. You’ve only got two weeks left on the option.”

  “Be pleasant and stop asking questions! That’s all I want! No more questions!”

  “But—”

  “Woman, you’d drive a dog to bite his own tail!”

  “You sound very Scottish when you yell like that.”

  “And not one more damned word about me having Scot ancestors!”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Do you always yell at your houseguests? I suppose all your women come here to let you yell at them nonstop.”

  “Yes. Dozens of women. All blonde. All—”

  “Petite. Aye.” She smiled crookedly, almost as if she knew something that she wasn’t telling.

  Douglas groaned in disgust and grabbed her hand again. “Move it, doll. We’ve got a fashion show to attend.”

  “A fashion show?” she inquired, as he tugged her down the hall. “But why—”

  “No more questions!”

  He was going to keep the upper hand in this situation. Somehow. But his control was definitely slipping.

  Elgiva glanced down at herself in amusement. She was dressed in a cool white caftan that felt wonderful against her hot skin. A maid in a pink uniform had brought it to her in this beautiful, pastel-colored room. Outside a row of louvered doors was a terrace with a fountain in the center. Beyond the terrace the surf could be heard whooshing against the beach. A tiny monkey chattered on his perch beside a cluster of tall indoor trees.

  The maid, a pleasant little woman who spoke with a Spanish accent, had shown Elgiva to an adjacent room and helped her change into the shapeless, flowing caftan. Naked under the strange garment, Elgiva had watched wistfully as the maid had carried her old clothes away. They made her homesick.

  But now, sitting in a deep wicker chair with her bare feet propped up on silk-covered pillows, she was almost, well, intrigued. She sipped from a crystal goblet filled with ice and mineral water and topped with an artistically scalloped orange wedge. She looked over at Douglas who had traded his woolens for a white caftan one of his valets had brought.

  Only Douglas Kincaid could look utterly masculine in such a strange garment.

  He had draped himself along the blue pillows of a wicker lounge. His bare feet—big and handsome, like the rest of him—were crossed at the ankles. He drank from his own goblet of mineral water and sighed with pleasure, running a hand through his disheveled black hair. He made Elgiva think of a contented sheik waiting to be entertained by his harem.

  Only he kept watching her as if she were the harem’s only member.

  “What now?” she asked, then bit her lip. “Oh. Sorry. No more questions.”

  “Are you comfortable?” She nodded. “Good. As soon as you finish with this little task you can take a shower and soak in your suite’s hot tub.” He nodded graciously. “You have your own suite of rooms. Right next to mine.”

  “How thoughtful of you, Douglas. What did you mean by ‘This little task’?”

  A phone console beeped on the table next to his lounge. He tapped a button. “Yes?”

  “Monsieur K, all is ready.”

  “Fantastic, Gert. Come in and meet Elgiva.”

  Elgiva straightened politely and pulled her feet to the floor which was inlaid with delicate patterns of light-colored wood. From a hallway entrance marched a compact woman in a white suit with red pinstripes. Her white pumps clicked on the floor. Her brunette hair was cut in a short, fashionably asymmetrical style so that one side swung against her cheek and the other side barely nudged the top of her ear.

  He
r makeup was perfect and dramatic, and her jewelry consisted of a few very expensive-looking good pieces. She carried a white clipboard, a white notepad, and a gold pen.

  She marched up to Elgiva, stopped, and thrust out a hand. “Welcome, Madame. I’m Gert Duval, Monsieur K’s executive assistant.”

  Elgiva returned the handshake. The woman had a mean grip, and for a second Elgiva was tempted to suggest that she visit the pub in Druradeen and arm wrestle with Timothy Kerr, the local champion. Elgiva squeezed back and kept her determined gaze on Gert Duval’s haughty one. Slowly, respect began to creep into Gert’s eyes.

  “I’ve seen friendlier handshakes between guys who are getting ready to trash each other in the ring,” Douglas commented dryly. “Is there a problem here?”

  Gert stepped back. “Pardon me, Monsieur. I’m afraid that my loyalty won’t let me forget that the lady kidnapped you.”

  “I appreciate a person with such loyalty,” Elgiva told her sincerely. “But you shouldn’t condemn me without knowing all my reasons.”

  “Later,” Douglas instructed, sounding impatient. “Gert, she’s got reasons. Trust me. Now, have you contacted the staff?”

  “Yes. They’ll all arrive during the night, Monsieur.”

  “Good. I’ll meet with them tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. I want updates from everyone. We’ll get back to business. But for the moment let’s see what you’ve arranged for my little kidnapper to wear.”

  “I have everything from lingerie to formal wear, Monsieur. And the selection of jewelry you requested.”

  “You’re incredible, Gert. Thank you.”

  “It was nothing, Monsieur. I’m just so pleased that you’ve returned safely.”

  Elgiva watched Gert Duval settle in a straight-backed chair. As had Kash Santelli, she gave respect without fear, friendship without fawning. If Douglas were the kind of man who deserved such devotion, how could he also be the kind who would take her ancestral home?

  She loved him, and she could only hope for the best. But what was he up to now?

  He yawned. “All right, Gert, what’s first?”

  “Swimsuits, Monsieur.”

  “Hmmm. My favorite, next to lingerie, of course.” He motioned to Elgiva, his dark eyes languid and teasing. “Pick out whatever you like, doll. Or take them all.”

  Gert clapped her hands. A model entered the room wearing the tinest of black bikinis. Elgiva swallowed a knot of embarrassment and shot Douglas a cocky look. “A brownie shrank that swimsuit in the wash. It’s bewitched.”

  “I thought Madame favored this kind of exposure,” Gert explained in a proper voice.

  Elgiva smiled grimly. “Madame was in costume the night she kidnapped your employer. Madame does not normally show her highlands to the world.”

  “Next model,” Douglas said, repressing a laugh.

  The next one wore an even racier bikini—little more than strings and small triangles of red material. Elgiva sighed grandly and tried to ignore the blush rising in her cheeks.

  “I cannot wear that,” she told Douglas. “My poor fair skin would get sunburned in places that I can’t even imagine.”

  “I can,” he said cheerfully.

  “I must have misjudged Madame’s taste,” Gert allowed.

  Elgiva folded her hands in her lap and looked at Douglas’s assistant with calm dignity. “Under the circumstances, I understand your dislike for me. But please give me a chance to make my reputation on more than one night’s appearance.”

  Gert looked perplexed. “Perhaps you’ll like the next selection.”

  The third model wore a simple maillot of shimmering blue material. Although it was the kind of suit that clung to every curve, it was demure compared to the others. Elgiva nodded fervently. “That will do!”

  Gert gazed at her with growing curiosity. “It comes in five different colors.”

  “Get her one of each,” Douglas interjected.

  Elgiva took a convulsive swallow of the iced mineral water and tried not to gape at him. He studied her face, and a slow, victorious smile slid across his mouth. “It can be fun to be rich,” he murmured. “It can make you reassess your whole outlook.”

  So that was his goal. To win her loyalty with bribes. Elgiva’s hands tightened harshly on her goblet. If he loved her he would already know that bribes weren’t necessary, and that they couldn’t make her happy if he still planned to buy the MacRoth estate.

  “I don’t need to see anymore,” she said abruptly, standing up. “This won’t do you any good, Douglas. Keep your bribes.”

  “They’re not bribes,” he said, but he looked startled. He propped his arms on his knees and sat forward, scrutinizing her like a playful sultan who’d suddenly had his top concubine spit in his eye.

  “Was that to be your revenge?” she asked. “To buy my change of heart and then gloat because you’d proved your golden rule—that everybody has a price?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, but a fleeting look of guilt swept across his expression. It was true, then, Elgiva thought sadly. “It won’t work,” she said in a low, anguished voice. “I’ve already given you the results you wanted in your experiment with loneliness, and now you’d like to see if I’m greedy, as well. No.”

  His face tightened into a mask of reserve. “Not greedy. Realistic.”

  She looked at Gert, who was frowning thoughtfully at her boss. “Can you show me to my suite?” Elgiva asked her.

  Douglas scowled. Gert shifted awkwardly. “Monsieur K?”

  “All right. Go on, for now.” Tension radiated from the tightly held lines of his body as he gazed at Elgiva. “Ill have the maids bring this whole wardrobe to your suite. You can either wear it or go naked. I don’t care.”

  “You don’t care about anyone’s pride but your own,” Elgiva said softly, her throat tight with tears of disappointment. “You can only give when it suits your purposes, Douglas, and that’s not what giving is supposed to be about.”

  She left the room with Gert hurrying after her. Elgiva heard the crash of crystal and pictured Douglas slamming his goblet against the floor.

  “My, he’s never done that before,” Gert noted in a taut little voice. She hesitated, then added as if talking to herself, “Maybe it was time. Maybe, indeed, you are right, Madame.”

  “Call me Elgiva.”

  “Call me Gert. And tell me how you know Monsieur ? so well.”

  Elgiva stopped. Around her in the luxurious hallway parrots chattered and tropical plants reached out with beautiful blossoms, promising a world as perfect and unreal as anything a fairy ever ruled.

  “I understand him because he needs his legends the way I need mine,” she told Gert with a shaky, sardonic smile. “It will be interesting to see whose legends survive.”

  “How long have you known Douglas?” Elgiva asked Kash Santelli. He paused over his glass of juice and studied her across a patio table set with china and silver. He had come to ask if her breakfast was satisfactory.

  She suspected that he’d agreed to sit down because he felt sorry for her. After a sleepless night, Elgiva knew that even a Paris sundress and a maid’s skillful attention to her hair couldn’t make her look less than woeful.

  “I have worked for him since I graduated from Harvard, and that was six years ago,” the exotic-looking young man replied finally, his accent making music with the words. “Before that, well, I lived at Audubon’s estate in Virginia from the time I was ten, so I saw Douglas on many occasions over the years. You could say that I’ve known him most of my life.”

  When she tried to restrain her curiosity he smiled, though his black eyes never lost their guarded look. She suspected that they never did. “When I was ten, Douglas and Audubon rescued me from a brothel in Vietnam,” Kash told her. “They were in the American army at the time.”

  “Oh, I see.” Elgiva ducked her head and idly pushed a heavy, sterling silver fork into a plate filled with sliced fruit. She tried to contain her shock and dismay. A brothel. Dou
glas had gone to a brothel.

  “He and Audubon were only looking for a friend of theirs,” Kash said.

  She jerked her head up and found him watching her knowingly. Elgiva sighed and tossed her fork onto the plate. “You must think I’m a naive person. I didn’t mean to look as if the idea startled me.”

  “Why not? It disgusts me. I’m disgusted by the idea of people being forced to sell themselves and their children.” At her stunned reaction he nodded calmly. “My mother died shortly after I was born. She was a prostitute. Half Vietnamese and Egyptian.” He laughed ruefully. “The story behind that interesting combination will have to wait for another time.” His mouth tightened. “My father was an American—not a soldier, obviously, since I was already ten years old at the time of the war, but an American, nonetheless. Douglas and Audubon felt sorry for me, I suppose. They smuggled me out of Vietnam.”

  “So you had been raised in the brothel,” Elgiva ventured, her stomach twisting with sympathy and dread.

  His dark eyes held hers without flinching. “Yes. And I worked in the brothel. There are many sad fates for children in a poor country, Elgiva. Especially for handsome little boys.”

  Elgiva raised a glass of water to her lips and took a deep swallow, fighting for calm. She failed. Thumping the glass down, she grasped one of Kash’s hands. “I despise people who harm children! I’m so sorry for you! I hope you find a great deal of happiness to erase the terrible memories. I hope you have a ladyfiend who loves you and understands.”

  He looked startled by her outburst. “Well, I have several who understand. I don’t think I’d say that love is uppermost in their minds, however.”

  Elgiva pulled her hand away and blushed. “Och! I’ve been incredibly personal and nosy. Forgive me.”

  But his eyes gleamed with affection. “Now I understand why Douglas considers you so special,” he said softly. “You are truly a kind and caring person.”