Just For Her. Katherine O' NealЧитать онлайн книгу.
rebellion of a child. The loss of her hair would change nothing. DeRohan would return and already she could feel the life draining out of her.
What can I do?
Through her despair, the memory of her adventure of the night before came floating to the surface of her mind. Once again, that same impulse seized her. This midnight specter…this Panther…she sensed again that he was the one man who was more than a match for DeRohan. The man who could set her free. He was clever and brave, and from all accounts, afraid of nothing. And the truth was, she could make all the resolutions she wanted, but if she was going to come out of this in one piece, she would need help. Somehow, she felt certain the Panther could think of a way out of this awful mess.
But how?
She’d lured him to her once with the false bait of the Habsburg jewels. She could do it again. But this time, he wouldn’t be fooled. She’d have to put the goods on the table.
The corners of her mouth began to tug into a smile as a new plan began to unfold.
Her mind racing now, she went to the buzzer and pushed the button. In a few moments, Hudson entered. He stopped short when he saw her, startled as he took in the mass of hair on the Savonnerie rug.
“Highness?” he asked, uncertainly.
“Hudson, call Monsieur Philippe and ask him to come as soon as he can to give me a proper trim. I’ve decided to cut my hair.”
“Very well, Highness.” He paused briefly. “The master intends to remain, I understand.”
“Don’t call him that,” she snapped irritably. “My husband is not my master. We won’t discuss his plans at present. I’ll give you instructions as they’re needed.”
“As you wish, Highness.”
His sudden stiffness jogged her. What was she doing? Treating Hudson as if he were just one of the hired help, when in reality he knew of her feelings for DeRohan and her dread of what she’d thought was but an impending visit. More gently she added, “With any luck, Hudson, the situation will prove temporary.”
“Then we’ll hope for good fortune, Highness.”
Dear Hudson. He always knew just what to say. “The Clews’s masked ball is the night after tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“It is, Highness.”
“I’ve decided to go after all. Have Madame Giverny bring by a selection of costumes this afternoon for me to choose from.”
“I shall telephone her immediately I’ve rung up the hairdresser.”
Jules played with the fringe on her dress as she thought. “And Hudson, I’d like you to make some other calls this afternoon. And have the Rolls washed and ready in the morning. I’ll want you to drive me.”
“Where are we going, Highness?”
“To Nice.”
“May I ask the nature of our outing?”
“We’re going to pay a visit to the bank vault.”
“I see. And may I be so bold as to ask what Your Highness is planning?”
She turned to him with a twinkle in her eye. “Planning? Why, not a thing, Hudson. I’ve just decided the Clews’s ball would be the perfect opportunity to show off some of my jewels.”
Chapter 6
Monsieur Jarot, the manager of the Nice Banque de Marchés, pulled out the oversize safety deposit box and, with some effort, walked it across the floor of the vault to a table where Jules waited with Hudson standing behind her.
At her nod, Hudson lifted the metal lid as three eager faces crowded around to gawk, then retrieved the various sized deep blue velvet boxes, laying them on the table.
Jules could feel the nearby reporters holding their breaths. Pausing momentarily to build the suspense, she opened the lids one by one, displaying a dazzling array of gems. It was a small collection—a mere portion of the pieces that had been passed down through the Habsburg family for generations—just four matched sets of necklace, bracelet, and earrings. But they were crafted by some of the most celebrated eighteenth and nineteenth century jewelers in Europe, and the stones were some of the finest their audience had ever seen, gleaming seductively, even in the harsh overhead light.
The gasps of the audience were audible. Only Hudson kept an impassive face. He was well acquainted with the gems.
Jacques Ronin from the Cannes Soir asked, “Which of these magnificent pieces belonged to Marie Antoinette?”
“These.” Jules held to her throat a string of massive creamy pearls. The clasp was fashioned from a large emerald surrounded by sixteen diamonds. “As you may know, Antoinette was exceptionally fond of pearls. This necklace was one of her favorites.”
“May we take a picture of you with them on?”
“Of course.” It was exactly what she wanted. Hudson quickly fastened the clasp, brushing aside the chic new bob that framed her face in soft golden curls. She’d worn an unadorned platinum dress, something that would offset, but not contrast with, the jewels. When she was ready, the photographers came forward from the rear of the immense vault. Several bursts of flash powder blinded the spectators and sulfur smoke tinged the air.
“Exactly what relation do you bear to the tragic queen?” asked the reporter from Nice-Matin.
“She would be my aunt, four generations removed. After the Revolution, the pearls were saved from the mob by her daughter and eventually returned to the family. My father gave them to my mother as a wedding present.”
“I understand, Madame DeRohan, that the Austrian State confiscated all your family’s property. How then did you get these jewels out of the country?”
“My mother sewed them into our corsets.”
She was about to change the subject when another reporter asked, “Your mother was killed trying to leave Vienna, is that not correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct. Perhaps you’d like to see—”
“Stoned to death, they said. Is there any truth to the story?”
“Unfortunately, it’s true.”
“Could you tell us how it happened?”
“I really don’t see—”
Hudson stepped in. “Gentlemen, surely this has nothing to do with the subject at hand. These memories are quite painful for Madame DeRohan. I feel certain you wouldn’t wish to cause her undue pain.”
“It seems to me that the story of the smuggling of the jewelry out of Vienna gives them the element of tragedy and romance an eager public would greedily gobble up. If you wish to call attention to the pieces, as you so clearly do, what better way than to break the public’s heart with the glamorous tale?”
Hudson was about to argue, but Jules put her hand on his sleeve and said quietly, “It’s quite all right. I shall tell these kind gentlemen what they wish to know.” It wasn’t something she cared to talk about, but if it was the only way to get them to print the story, she was resolute enough to do even that. She began softly, “After the war, all the members of my family were given the option of either renouncing any claim to the throne or going into exile. Some of my relatives decided to stay and sign away their claim, but my father chose to go. We were the last to leave. We were being watched by the authorities, but my mother had known this was coming and secretly hid what jewels she could and sewed them into the linings of our corsets a little at a time. The public had turned against the family. They blamed us for the war…for so many things. There had been riots all day long, so we’d decided to wait and leave late at night. But some of the mob had been watching for us. As we came out, they began to throw rocks, yelling obscenities. My father hurried me to the auto to shield me, but as he did so, the crowd closed in on