Innocent's Nine-Month Scandal. Dani Collins
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“To make a claim against our fortune?” he suggested dryly.
“We’re not making one. I came to make a fair and legitimate offer for the earring. All I want is for my grandmother to hold again the token given to her by her first love.”
“Does she want that?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Perhaps she doesn’t possess your level of sentimentality.”
“What’s wrong with being sentimental? Do you not have any special fondness for some place or thing? A sense of nostalgia for eating berries with your brother?” She nodded toward the conservatory.
His expression hardened, warning her she was treading dangerous ground.
She wasn’t trying to upset him, only demonstrate what she knew to be true.
“An object doesn’t have to be something of high value,” she continued. “Or even something that can be quantified. I could work anywhere, but I choose to work in the family shop. Part of it is loyalty to family. And yes, my uncle provided my apprenticeship so I owe him for that, but I could have pursued other placements. I want to work in that particular shop because that place is special to me. I don’t care where I live so long as I can go there every day. It’s my real home.”
He wasn’t impressed. She could see it in the flat lines of his expression.
“Okay, try this, then. It’s like when I ordered pálinka earlier. It gave me a taste of home, which helps me feel the strength of my family behind me.”
“Why did you need that?” His gaze sharpened.
“Because this is overwhelming! I’ve never traveled so far on my own. Never met anyone like you or experienced a place like this. Don’t you like to feel your family at your back sometimes?”
His mouth twitched. “I have a mother and a great-aunt. I stand at their back.”
She blinked in astonishment. “But—” She stopped herself from asking, What about when you lost your brother? “They’re your only family? You should definitely meet Aunt Alisz and Gisella, then.”
“So I might have more responsibility? Unnecessary,” he dismissed.
“So you have more family.”
“They’re not my family,” he dismissed further. “Even if we do share DNA. You really are a romantic.”
Yes, they are, she wanted to argue. She could tell he wasn’t willing to see it that way, however.
“So you don’t have any emotional connections to...anything?”
“My emotions are basic. I prefer physical comfort over being too hot or cold. I like good food and the satisfaction of achieving goals. Sometimes I enjoy watching sport finals or fishing off my yacht. I like sex,” he said with such a direct look, it was an arrow into her heart. “But I have no desire for the drama of love affairs and tasting death to prove I’m alive or other nonsense like that.”
“Nonsense,” she repeated with a little choke. “If you knew how much you sound like my aunt Alisz, who sees no value in playing and having fun, you wouldn’t be able to deny that you’re related to her.” But her aunt’s notoriously blunt and aloof personality was a story for another day. She straightened in her chair. Drew a breath. “If you have no attachment to the earring, why don’t you sell it to me?”
“Because I don’t want you to have it.” He spoke like he was addressing a child. “Your grandmother stole it. She profited well off her theft. I’m still astounded you have the gall to come here and ask me for it.” He took a sip of wine, steady as a rock. “But I’m not impassioned with anger over it. Merely displeased.”
She had to wonder what would provoke him to impassioned anger.
“Will you show it to me?”
“I’m still thinking about that.”
“All right, fine,” she said, throwing her napkin beside her plate. “Let’s remove sentiment and allow me to argue on an intellectual level. As a man who occasionally likes to fish, I presume you have an interest in all the latest rods and flies—”
His expression didn’t change, but she heard the pun as soon as he did. Rods. Flies. They were right back to the ball joke.
“Stop it. I’m saying that if you had an opportunity to view unique equipment—”
He sipped, maybe to hide his smile. “I assume comedienne is another of your many professions.”
“You know what I’m driving at,” she said with exasperation. “From what I’ve been told, the craftsmanship in the earring is rare and remarkable. I’ve seen one mediocre catalogue photo of it. It may not sway you that I would consider holding it as an honor and a privilege, but I hope you would be willing to satisfy my curiosity. As an artist,” she tacked on, self-conscious now, especially because the corners of his mouth were digging in.
“If nothing else, Ms. Toth, you are entertaining.”
“Allow me to give you my professional, educated opinion on the earring and I’m sure I can come up with a few more risqué innuendos while I’m at it.”
“I have no doubt.” He was sitting back in his chair, relaxed, and threw back the last of his wine, then set aside his glass decisively. “Very well. Let’s go to my office.”
“Really?” Her heart nearly came out her throat.
“Perhaps you’ll tell me it’s a fake and we’re arguing over nothing.”
He led her to a study next to the receiving parlor. It held the smell of the ashes in the unlit fireplace and leather-bound books. The books were free of dust and arranged in severe lines on a wall of shelves. There was a door to the parlor and a small footstool to the side of the desk, closest the windows. Its placement gave her the impression he often swiveled his chair to set his feet there and contemplate his kingdom through the windows.
Over the marble mantel, an imposing portrait stared down at the pair of leather chairs that faced the desk.
“Is that your father?” The clothing didn’t seem right, but the resemblance to Viktor was undeniable.
“Istvan.”
Oh. No wonder her grandmother had fallen so hard. He seemed to project Viktor’s same aloof confidence.
“And this is Cili.” Viktor went behind the desk, drawing her gaze to the painting he pulled away from the wall to reveal the safe mounted behind it.
Rozi moved so she could get a better look at the seated woman wearing a yellow gown with a billowing skirt. She cradled a dog in her lap. The work captured beautifully the glint of light against satin and the hues in the dog’s fur.
“There’s no combination. It’s my fingerprint. You can’t break in unless you plan to dismember me.”
“I’m looking at her, wondering how people sat for so long in those days. Surely that dog got fed up and snapped at her? But she keeps that peaceful smile on her face.”
He closed the safe and swung the painting back into place. “The painter was her lover.”
“Of the dining room floorboard lovers?”
“He didn’t carve his initials into the space, so we can only assume he spent time there. Her marriage was arranged, and despite her husband’s generous wedding gift of a pair of elegant earrings, their relationship was strained. That’s why my aunt Bella was allowed to forgo marriage. Her mother refused to trap her in a situation she adamantly opposed.”
“She never married?”
“Her romantic feelings lay in a direction that was considered inappropriate. She’s had companions over the years.