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‘Thank you.’ She was not sure what devil possessed her, but she turned—slowly, with a lingering smile over her shoulder—and went across to take the seat next to Ana. What was the matter with her? She never flirted. If anyone had asked, she would have said she had no idea how to. And here she was exchanging lingering glances and fleeting touches with…with her friend Theo, that was who.
‘Marquesa. May I sit here?’
’But of course.’ Ana fanned herself, gentle, sweeping movements. ‘Why are you here, Miss Elinor?’
‘Miss Ravenhurst,’ Elinor corrected with a smile. ‘I am the eldest unmarried daughter.’
‘Of course you are. The oldest and unmarried. I am so sorry…for my mistake.’
I walked right into that one, Elinor thought grimly. ‘Why am I here? This is an unoccupied seat and I wished to sit down.’
‘Here at the chateau, with Teó.’ There was a slight snap in the richly accented voice. Obviously young ladies were supposed to wilt before her barbs.
‘I am h
ere with my mother. Meeting Theo was completely unexpected. But I am so pleased we did.’
‘Por qué?’
‘I am sorry, I read five languages, but Spanish is not one of them. Let me guess—was that why?’ She did not wait for Ana’s sharp nod. ‘Theo was able to introduce us to the count and it will be so useful for Mama’s researches to study the chapel here.’
‘So that is why you are here? To study architecture?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Elinor said, allowing her gaze to linger on Theo’s beautifully tailored back. ‘To study…form.’
Fortunately, given the hiss of indrawn breath from the woman at her side, dinner was announced before she could add any further kindling to the fire. This really was an amusing diversion, pretending they were rivals for Theo’s affections. She seemed to be convincing the marquesa; doubtless the family talent for acting was coming to her rescue.
The rest of the evening provided less challenging entertainment. Dinner was excellent and both Sir Ian and Monsieur Castelnau, her partners on either side, proved to be lively conversationalists. Coffee in the salon with the ladies afterwards was duller.
Ana announced that she had the migraine and retired, looking more like a cat setting out on an evening’s prowl than someone suffering from a headache. The younger women chattered amongst themselves, Julie brooded and the countess made brittle conversation with Lady Tracey, Lady James and Elinor until the men joined them.
Watching the door, Elinor saw Theo’s eyes as he scanned the room, then frowned. So, he is looking for her is he? Unaccountably irritated, Elinor got to her feet. She did not want to pay games. ‘Do excuse me, madame, Mama. I think I will retire now. Goodnight.’
An hour later Elinor sat up straight and stretched, yawning. A copy of the plan of the chateau was spread on the table before her, coloured now to show the ages of the different parts. She could see clearly which areas remained from the time of the wicked count and his orgies.
But was that any help? She pushed the chair away from the table and began to walk up and down. It would be logical to assume that the original hiding place for the valuable artefacts was close to where the orgies had been held, but that did not mean that later de Beaumartins had not hidden the things elsewhere. Or that part of the chateau may have been demolished to make way for the eighteenth-century additions. Had she wasted her time? Perhaps, although Mama might find it useful.
From the corridor outside she heard the sound of footsteps, doors shutting. Everyone, it seemed, was going to bed. Elinor stood up to close the lid of her paint box and swirl the brushes in the water pot, then stood, dripping brushes poised in mid-air. Now was probably as good a time as any to corner Theo and persuade him to let her help in his search. She would give it half an hour to let everyone else settle down. Elinor reached out to trim a guttering candle and settled down to study the plan again.
Theo padded around his room, studying its furniture and pictures with automatic professional interest while his mind sifted through the impressions of the day. Either the Traceys were very, very good at dissembling, or they were exactly what they seemed: keen amateurs with the money and leisure to indulge their interests and the temperament to regard rivalry as an amusing sport.
Ana would not be here, surely, if she already had the Chalice? On the other hand, she had all the instincts of a cat and nothing would appeal to her more than to see him threshing around looking for the thing when she knew she had it safe. He arrived in front of an ornate baroque mirror and realised that he was still stark naked, distracted when he had finished washing by the sight of an interesting Italian Primitive hanging by the door.
The mirror was one of the items he had tracked down for the late count. Now he stood in front of it and studied himself critically. The swelling on his face had subsided, but the cuts and bruises did nothing to enhance his looks. Not that his face was something he ever paid much attention to. His body was another matter—he relied on that to function well and to keep him out of trouble. He sucked in his stomach muscles and winced, then flexed his shoulders, critically studying the way the muscles moved, identifying each twinge of discomfort. That was better, less pain there now and the bastards had not got round to kicking him in the kidneys.
The heavy silk dressing gown lay across the end of the bed and he pulled it on, enjoying the slither of cool silk over warm skin. He would sleep for an hour, perhaps two, then dress again and begin the systematic search of the castle that would take him several nights to complete. If Leon was bluffing and had the Chalice, he would find it.
He left the candles burning, lay back on the heaped pillows and closed his eyes. Outside his door a board creaked. He had noticed it that evening, registering it as something to be avoided on his nocturnal wanderings. Now he opened one eye a fraction and slid his right hand up under the pillows beside his head until he could grip the butt of the pistol.
The door opened. Even in the dim light the figure was unmistakeable. He did not relax his grip on the weapon. ‘Teó? Are you asleep?’
The champagne silk négligé was familiar, he could remember buying it for her. It was an elegant confection and not one that could conceal as much as a stiletto. He removed his hand from under the pillow and sat up warily. ‘What do you want, Ana?’
‘Such a warm welcome.’ She sat on the end of the bed, her back against the post, and arranged herself languidly. It was no surprise to find a warm foot caressing his instep. Nor was he surprised at the way his groin tightened or by the heavy ache of arousal. She was a beautiful woman and he knew very precisely what she was capable of in bed. What was new was the complete indifference of his mind to the promise of her body.
‘Poor Teó, were you so injured in your—fall, did you say?—that you cannot please a woman?’
‘No, it was not a fall and I have no desire to have my back raked by your talons, Ana. Tonight or any night.’
