Black Ice. Anne Stuart

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СКАЧАТЬ let his reactions show. If someone could still look that composed after a quickie in the garden then he wasn’t for her. She preferred men who weren’t afraid to show emotion.

      And she was making wild assumptions all over the place, she reminded herself, none of which were justified. It didn’t matter whether he was her type or not, he was definitely out of her league.

      He hadn’t glanced at her during the interminable dinner, making it even more clear that his interest had been a moment’s distraction. She sat quietly enough in her chair, translating when she needed to, saying nothing otherwise. Monique von Rutter, on the other hand, was the life of the party—witty, charming, flirting with everyone there, both male and female.

      Chloe was ready to slide under the table in defeat when Hakim finally rose, signaling an end to the endless meal. “We have a great deal to accomplish tomorrow, mesdames et messieurs. I suggest coffee and liqueurs in the west salon, and then we retire. Those who wish to go directly to bed may, of course, be excused.” He turned his small black eyes in her direction. “You won’t be needed anymore tonight, Mademoiselle Underwood.”

      The dismissal was clear and welcome—a liqueur would have put her under the table for sure. She rose steadily enough, secure that her slightly impaired state wouldn’t be noticed in the general exodus.

      He was watching her. She couldn’t imagine why, and she couldn’t actually catch him at it, but she knew that he had been watching her all evening, while he charmed every other female present.

      Maybe it would make sense in the morning when the wine had worn off and she’d had some sleep, but right then it felt confusing, disturbing, threatening. And oddly, wickedly exciting.

      She’d forgotten how tortuous the halls of the château were. Bastien had led her downstairs—she wasn’t about to ask for his help in finding her way back. Trial and error would work well enough.

      It took her longer than expected. She should have asked for directions, but by the time she was halfway up the formal staircase there was no one in sight. She halted, slipping off Sylvia’s high heels with a grateful sigh, then continued onward, reasonably certain that she’d find her room sooner or later.

      She hadn’t realized quite how large the château was. Even if she’d been entirely clearheaded she would have had a hard time finding her own hallway. At that hour, in the dim light, she could have wandered forever, down one tasteful hall and up another, each one familiar yet strange. It wasn’t until she turned a corner that a familiar-looking door appeared, and she practically sprinted toward it, certain it led to the hallway with her rooms.

      She was wrong. The smell was powerful—rot and mildew, the decay of an ancient building. The renovations had only come this far, she realized, peering into the darkness. As far as she could tell the electricity hadn’t been added, but the reflected light through the dusty window illuminated a glimpse of what the rest of the château must have looked like, before someone with far too much money decided to save it. The plastered walls were crumbling, the floor was stained and buckled, and cans of paint stood as mute testimony to further renovation plans. There was another smell beneath the damp and mold, one she couldn’t quite identify, something old and dark and inexplicably…evil. And all that wine had definitely gone to her head—in another moment she’d start imagining she was in some kind of danger. Too much wine, too much imagination. She backed out of the room, slowly, only to come up against a solid, human form.

      She screamed, biting back the sound as a heavy hand clamped on her arm, spinning her around.

      It was M. Hakim. Her relief was palpable—she actually started babbling. Not that Hakim was warm and fuzzy, but anyone was preferable to the unsettling Bastien Toussaint.

      “Thank heavens!” she said. “I’ve gotten all turned around and I was afraid I’d never find my room.”

      “This section of the château is off-limits to visitors, Miss Underwood. As you can see, it has yet to be renovated, and it would be very dangerous to wander around in there. If you were to get in trouble no one would hear you scream.”

      Chloe was suddenly entirely sober. She swallowed, looking into Hakim’s dark, calm face. And then she forced herself to laugh, breaking the tension.

      “I think I need a map to find my way around this place,” she said. “If you can give me directions to my room I’ll head there. I’m exhausted.”

      He hadn’t let go of her arm. He had thick, ugly hands, with dark hair across the backs of his sausage-like fingers. He said nothing, and for one brief, crazy moment she thought he was going to shove her back into the deserted wing where no one would hear her scream.

      And then sanity returned, and he dropped her arm, and while his smile was far from pleasant at least it was a smile.

      “You should be more careful, Miss Underwood,” he admonished her. “Other people might be more dangerous than I am.”

      “Dangerous?” She just barely managed to keep the stammer out of her voice.

      “Like Monsieur Toussaint, for instance. He can be very charming, but you would be wise to keep your distance. I saw the two of you in the hall this evening, and I was most concerned. For you, Miss Underwood.”

      It was shadowy enough that he wouldn’t be able to see the flush that mounted to her cheeks. “He was just showing me the way to the library.”

      “With his mouth? I’d keep out of his reach if I were you. The man is notorious. His appetite for women is insatiable, and his tastes are, shall we say, peculiar. I would feel somewhat responsible if you were to run into any trouble while you’re here. After all, I’m in effect your employer, and I wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you.”

      “Neither would I,” Chloe said.

      “Turn left, down two corridors then two right turns.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “That’s the way back to your room. Unless you prefer I escort you?”

      Chloe managed to suppress her shudder of revulsion. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “If I get lost again I’ll scream.”

      “You do that,” Hakim said in a cool voice that somehow failed to reassure her.

      But she made it back to her corridor without further mishap, and there was no one lingering, watching for her. The satyrlike M. Toussaint must have found his partner for the night, she thought, faintly disgruntled, as she pushed open her door.

      Someone had been in there. There was no key, no way to keep anyone out, and the sense of violation was unavoidable. She shook her head, trying to clear the paranoia away. Why should anyone be interested in a hired translator?

      The bed was turned down, one of Sylvia’s diaphanous nightgowns was laid out across it, and a tray with a crystal decanter and a plate of chocolates rested on the gilt table beside the bed.

      “Relax, idiote,” she said out loud, to break the hush that enveloped the room. “It was just a maid.”

      She got ready for bed quickly, pulling the confection of lace and silk over her head. If she had any sense at all she’d go straight to bed, but her encounter with Hakim had driven sleep right out of her mind. A snifter of brandy wouldn’t hurt.

      She СКАЧАТЬ