Free What Wild Moonlight by Victoria Lynne

and took a deep swallow of champagne, studying her with a look of mild amusement. “‘Katya, the Goddess of Mystery.’ Is that truly your name? Katya?”
    “Yes.”
    “Katya.” He said her name slowly, as though experimenting with the feel of it on his tongue. “It suits you. Exotic, yet not unapproachable.” His dark gaze moved appraisingly over her. “So my little caterpillar has turned herself into a beautiful butterfly,” he remarked.
    Katya wasn’t certain whether he was referring to the opening act of her performance, or to her transformation from the mud-soaked girl he had left a few days earlier into the immodestly clad woman who stood before him now. In either case, it didn’t sound like much of a compliment. She told him so.
    “On the contrary. There wasn’t a man in that audience who wouldn’t desire you in his bed.”
    “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, either.”
    A knowing smile curved his lips. “Given tonight’s crowd, you may be right.”
    It was an odd remark to make, especially since the audience that night had been comprised mainly of what was considered the better class: lords and ladies of the realm, the gentry, the wealthy, and the titled. “That reminds me,” he continued smoothly. “I don’t believe I’ve fully introduced myself. My card.” He passed her an elegant square of cream linen.
Nicholas Duvall, Earl of Barrington.
    “You’re an earl.”
    “I am.”
    She studied him in a new light, wondering why she hadn’t seen it earlier. Of course the man was wealthy and titled. That explained his haughty arrogance and air of complete self-assurance, his immaculately tailored clothing and his entree into Monaco’s most exclusive gatherings. So the DuValentis had prospered all these years, while the Rosskayas had for centuries barely managed to scrape by. The DuValentis had acquired wealth and status, while the Rosskayas had fled from country to country, forever hunted and persecuted by their ancient blood enemy.
    “Do I detect a frown?” he inquired. “I disappoint you. Perhaps you were expecting a duke or a marquis.”
    She coolly raised her gaze to meet his. “I expected an Englishman who was down on his luck and looking to earn a few extra francs by offering to drive our coach.”
    “Not very perceptive of you, Miss Alexander.”
    “If you weren’t desperate for money, why did you agree to drive us into Monaco?”
    “It was a foolish wager, nothing more,” he replied, impatiently dismissing both the question and the topic. He took a long swallow of champagne, studying her for a moment in thoughtful silence. Finally he replied, “I attended your performance tonight. Very impressive. Do you know which part of your act I enjoyed the most?”
    “I can’t imagine.”
    “I believe you called it Flying Purses. Wasn’t that the part where various possessions belonging to different members of the audience magically flew into your hands onstage? Watches, pipes, brooches, rings, even one woman’s tiara. It was quite impressive—especially when those audience members swore you hadn’t been anywhere near them.”
    “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
    “In fact, I was so impressed, I couldn’t help but try to fathom how you accomplished it. It occurred to me that you must have gotten physically close to them at some point in order to snatch their belongings. Suddenly I remembered an elderly, bumbling usher who seated a few of the guests for tonight’s performance—the very guests whose possessions found their way into your hands. That usher was you, was it not, Miss Alexander?”
    Katya hid her surprise and dismay. Had she been that obvious? It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but she could tell by the smug expression on his face that that would be fruitless. “Congratulations, Lord Barrington, you win a prize.”
    “Don’t look so disheartened. I sincerely doubt that anyone else saw through your disguise.”
    “How very