But it didn't matter what he thought, or what he felt. And eventually, Rita Nikolaev managed to get his attention and banish his distress, at least temporarily. But it all came back again when they rejoined the others and he saw the deathangel carefully apportioned on Nikolaev china for everyone to try.
He couldn't even storm out. He had to play his part. He'd tell Chance to send him back to Nev Hettek, if he thought Chance would. But Chance wouldn't. This was just the kind of mess that Magruder was here to make.
And it was just the kind of mess that Mike Chamoun was here to make. So, if he was succeeding, why did he feel so damned bad about it?
Maybe, he told himself, it was because Rita and her friends—Rita, one of the shrewdest of the new generation of Merovingian mercantilists—had swallowed Cassie's performance hook, line, and barbed sinker.
Not a one of the young lions of Merovingen commerce at that table, chewing their deathangel with giggles and sighs and chattering wide-eyed to one another about the "importance" of everything Cassie had said—not a single one of the elite and the elitist realized that Cassiopeia Boregy was prophesying the revolution that the Sword of God had come here to make!
After all, she was a home-grown seeress, a magical creature in their midst. Michael methodically chewed his own deathangel tail, because he couldn't risk not doing it, not in this company, not when his wife was the rising star of Merovingen's new fortune.
As he chewed, he listened and he grunted in the appropriate places, and the part of him that wasn't Sword of God felt increasingly sorry for these spoiled magnates-to-be. They followed fashion with such a passion that none had a single qualm about the effect of repression on the lower tiers, of paranoia among the ruling class, of beefed-up security and personal militias—or of deathangel on their own psyches.
Michael had risked deathangel before, for a lesser prize than being intimate with the Nikolaevs and their powerful playmates. He'd risk it again, if he had to.
But he didn't like his wife risking it, and risking their child in the bargain. He didn't like it one bit. And he was so absorbed with that concern that the deathangel magnified his worries. The tiny amount of drug in the deathangel flesh turned into an amplifier of those fears, and soon enough Mike Chamoun had all he could do not to run out of there, yelling at the top of his lungs that Cassie must stop this before it was too late.
It was too late already. His sweaty face and his glazed eyes and his shaking limbs were a testament to that. And all over Merovingen that night, in the homes of the rich and the powerful, wherever money and connections were strong enough to secure deathangel, young men and women looked into each other's eyes and asked: "Who was I, in a previous life?" and "What does my future hold in store?"
And everywhere the answer coming back from drug-assailed psyches and imaginations titillated by Cassiopeia Boregy's performance was the same: "I was rich and powerful, a traveler among the stars." "I will be there again, in Cassie's army of the newly aware and the carefully prepared, immune to the onslaught to come."
Tatiana Kalugin leaned back on her taupe velvet couch and stretched her naked arms high above her head. Her hair was loose and she ran her fingers through it, eyes on Magruder, who was still undressing.
"And then Anastasi grabbed me," she told her dangerous lover, "—nearly shook me, actually, but you saw that—and said that if it turned out I had anything to do with this, he was going to..." She forced a grin that she hoped was insouciant. ". . . ah, do away with me, would be the most polite way to say it. But Anastasi wasn't polite. And when my brother loses his calm, you can be sure there's something very wrong."
Magruder didn't comment. She loved to watch him undress. First he'd take off his velvet jacket, then his shirt, revealing all that well-used muscle on a broad-shouldered frame that was built for action, and for speed. Some would call Magruder stringy, aging, rangy or lanky; to Tatiana he was like the pistol belted against his spine or the knife on his hip: hard, designed for a purpose, and exciting beyond anything built for less.
He always took his pants off last, and she was sure it was because his weapons were around his waist. Tonight, barefoot and bare-chested, he padded toward her with his belt still cinched and sat on the edge of her couch, stern concern in his eyes. He put a hand on her naked flank, slid it up, past her waist, along her ribcage, down her naked arm until he could take her hand. He guided that hand to his belt.
She said, because the silence between them yawned dangerously and something real might fall out of her mouth into it: "What did Vega say to you about Cassie's performance? Anything? Do you think they can control her, Vega and Ito?"
"I'm more worried about Anastasi threatening you. Just what did he say, exactly?"
She wasn't going to tell him, then she did: "That he'd 'tear me a new asshole,' should it turn out that I had anything to do with Cassie's debut—or the things she said. I know I didn't." She took a quavering breath, while her hands undid Magruder's belt and the weight of his weapons made it fall away from his hips. "Did you? Or your boy, Chamoun?"
If her question shocked him, or frightened him, there should have been some sign.
Magruder didn't push her hand away from him; he didn't shrink from her; his desire didn't abate. He leaned forward and down, kissing her breast. Then she felt the sharpness of his teeth.
Her free hand ruffled his short hair. Her attention strayed from the question she'd asked to the answers her body was giving his, and the promises his was making.
When he lifted his head and stood to allow her to slip his pants down, he said in a thicker voice than usual: "Michael said he'd talk to you about Cassie whenever you wished. Don't bring that business to bed with us, Tatiana. Not tonight."
Out of contact with him as he kicked his legs free of his pants and made sure his weaponsbelt was in easy reach, she had enough presence of mind to say, "Chance, you're underestimating the danger here. Anastasi's feeling threatened by your protege's wife."
"Anastasi's in bed with Vega," said Magruder as he put one knee on the couch and then swung the other over, straddling her. "And I'm in bed with you. Looks like parity to me."
Then he lowered himself onto her and there was the remarkable pleasure of the length of him against her. There was something about the feel of Magruder's skin against her own that was unparalleled in her experience. It was more than simply his heat and the slide of his lean muscle, the brush of his body hair, or the strength in his limbs: the very contact with his skin took her breath away.
And it took her senses away, as well. The man who might well be the most potent weapon in Merovingen split her legs with a practiced hand and, when he took that hand away to delve her most intimately, she was devoid of questions as to his loyalty...
Almost. The uncertainty of his motives was part of the attraction, she knew. The very threat he represented, the risk of being intimate with a man as ruthless and as motivated as Magruder, made the stakes so high her body leaped to meet his.
She locked her arms around his neck and willed him to say that he loved her. It was the only protection she could possibly secure from Chance Magruder. But he didn't say it. He murmured that he loved her breasts, that he loved the feel of her, that he loved the taste of her. But none of that brought any safety to this union of wholehearted lust.
Magruder liked control games. He watched her as he made love to her, holding back, teasing, intent on making her respond and react, rather than initiate and act. And her body arched under him, saying in its own language how it longed for the climax he could give her.
She was just raising her lips to his ear to whisper, "Now, Chance..." when a bright light intruded.
The door behind them had opened. Someone stood there.
She froze, her arms and legs locked around her lover, and craned her neek in horror. She had locked the door! She knew she had.
Therefore, whoever stood in that doorway either had a key, or was an enemy capable of picking locks soundlessly...
She s
quinted at the figure silhouetted there and it moved toward her, flipping on the electrics.
"Father!" The agonized groan burst out of her as Magruder's weight left her. There was a scramble: Magruder's feet hitting the floor, Chance snatching up his belt—not for his pants, but for his weapons.
She realized what Chance was doing and lunged for him, naked before her father. Bare-assed, caught with a lover Iosef would never have approved....
"No, Chance!" Her arms went around Magruder's, to stop him from pointing knife or gun at her father.
"Get dressed, daughter," came her father's voice. "I'll be waiting."
And Iosef Kalugin stomped out through the door, slamming it behind him.
Alone in the bright light, they looked at each other. Magruder's chest was heaving; the hair on it sparkled with perspiration; his desire had wilted. "What now?" he asked.
"Do as he said." She shrugged into her wrap. "I'll talk to him. Stay if you—"
"I don't think so. I'm not sure we can—"
She couldn't let him say that—not that they couldn't see each other again. "Don't be ridiculous, Chance. I'm a grown woman with my own sphere of influence."
"You're still the governor's daughter." Magruder's voice came from deep within his chest. He was buckling his belt, stooping over for his tunic. He looked up at her. "You do what's best for you, Tatiana. I'm not expecting anything more. I'll go out the back way. We knew this wasn't the most politic of unions...."
"But it is, Chance. Trust me. At least," she hurried as, shod and buttoned up, he headed for the back door, "tell me where you'll be if you won't wait and I'll come to you, when I've talked to Iosef."
"I don't know. The embassy, I guess—"
Then the door opened again, and her father said, "Don't leave, Ambassador Magruder. I need to talk to you, as well."
Tatiana Kalugin squeezed her eyes shut as if, when she opened them, her father wouldn't be standing in the doorway ordering her lover to bear witness while he lectured his daughter.
She wasn't a child. Why did she feel as if she'd been caught necking in a fancyboat? She wished with all her heart that it had never happened. Never in her life had she dreamed of anything as awful as her father coming upon her with her legs wrapped around a man's buttocks.... Not only her pride, but her dignity as well, was wounded.
Iosef cared for none of that. He stalked right up to the couch where she sat, her wrap pulled around her, and glared down at her. He was still her father. Standing there, he towered over her as he had when she was young. She nearly wept.
Then her father said, "Tatiana, Ambassador Magruder, what do you think you're doing, frolicking here like this? It's bad enough my daughter is consorting with the enemy, but now?"
She tried to retort, "Chance isn't the—"
Iosef cut her off brutally: "Are you both blind? Or did you plan all this? Confess you did, and things will go easier for you both."
"Plan 'this' what, Governor?" Magruder said in a tone that snapped like a whip, with no hint of guilt or embarrassment in it.
"Mikhail and Cassie Boregy. Don't play the fool with me, Ambassador. I know your boy Chamoun's up to his ears in this plot."
"What plot, father?" This time, Tatiana wouldn't be silenced. She stood up on shaking legs, holding her wrap closed, and took a step toward her father. "If there's a plot here, it's come from Vega Boregy and Ito, possibly with Anastasi's collusion."
"It's not Anastasi, Ito, and Vega I find missing and unaccounted for when I need to discuss matters this evening—and then find in carnal—"
"All right, Governor," Magruder said, coming to Tatiana's side and putting an arm around her shoulder—a protective arm that at any other time she'd have shaken off, to then slap the impertinent fool across the face.
But Magruder's support was curiously welcome. Magruder's touch, in this moment, wasn't a sign that he thought her to be weak. It was display for her father's benefit, and one she appreciated.
And Magruder continued: "Your daughter and I are lovers, have been for some time. We think this is our business, and not only that. We're forging a better understanding, a basis for cooperation. We're not ashamed, only prudent. People will talk. Assumptions will be made. But I assure you, ser, my intentions are honorable and Tatiana's never displayed anything but a wholehearted support of your best interests."
"Nice speech, Nev Hetteker." Iosef s mouth was dry, Tatiana noticed. She could see the way his tongue couldn't wet his lips; they parted with an audible smack when he talked. "But not the speech I need to hear. Both of you, look me in the eye and tell me you had nothing to do with Cassiopeia Boregy's little performance."
"Chamoun's against it, ser," Magruder said very softly, as if he were reluctant to discuss the matter at all—which he was. "His wife's pregnant. He's afraid the drugs that the College is giving her will hurt the fetus."
Tatiana looked at Chance, shocked. There was so much he'd held back. She edged away from him. His arm tightened about her shoulder, saying don't misconstrue; don't jump to conclusions.
"Father, Chance is right. It's Ito, and Vega—probably under Anastasi's direction. Look at what's before you: who wants unrest in Merovingen if not Anastasi? Who's enamored of military might? If this ploy works, Anastasi will have all the men he needs to make his war upon Nev Hettek—he'll only have to commandeer the private militias that the houses will commission. He doesn't even have to go against your quotas..."
Now Magruder squeezed her, nearly imperceptibly. But she was just fabricating, guessing, casting straws to the wind.
Her father frowned. Then he positively glowered. "Did you see Mikhail's reaction? Did you listen to him? He's sure Cassie Boregy is the Angel of Retribution, never mind that she's a woman. He's got religion, and she's it. If you two aren't part of the problem, then you'd better prove it to me by becoming part of the solution."
"Of course, father," Tatiana said through her own dry mouth, aware of the danger, and the opportunity, at hand.
"Whatever you say, Governor. Anything I can do," Magruder offered, and she could only hope that Chance realized where this might lead.
"Magruder, I want you to tell the Chamoun boy we want to see him."
"I did that already, father. He's agreed to come discuss his wife's... ability...with me tomorrow."
"I want control over this woman—over what she says and whom she says it to. Or I want her silenced. One way or the other, is that clear?"
Tatiana nodded, struck dumb, and watched Magruder out of the corner of her eye.
Chance said, "If it's Anastasi's gambit, there's not much I can do but ascertain that for you, Governor—to the extent that Chamoun knows anything. We can't get into the College and find out what kind of rubbish they're feeding Cassie... what kind of preparation goes along with the drugs they're giving her."
"You'll do what I tell you. If she can't be controlled, she must be stopped."
"Stopped?" Tatiana knew what her father meant, but needed to be sure: "Do you mean formally, or informally? Accused of treason, along with Ito and Vega, and possibly Anastasi—of fomenting this or that? Or do you mean... disappearing?"
Iosef looked hard at his daughter, then at her lover, then back to Tatiana again. "I mean, stopped. Or controlled. Let's try the controlling, first. Tatiana, you see Chamoun. Magruder, whatever your influence is, use it. The next time Cassie Boregy speaks, she's to speak to the advantage of the status quo as I've determined it. I want a copy, before the fact, of whatever she's going to say in her next public appearance. I also want assurances, from you, Magruder, and yours— Chamoun and by association, his wife,—that when Cassie Boregy gives my son Mikhail his 'private audience' tomorrow, nothing will be said in that audience of which I would not approve. Nothing that will turn Mikhail's head. Nothing that will involve him in something I can't sanction—nothing that will limit his future. Is that clear?"
Her father's roar echoed around the room so that Magruder reflexively let go of her and she, in her turn, stepp
ed back a pace. So that was what Iosef was really angry about: not her and Magruder, not whatever Ito and his allies might have fabricated in the person of Cassie Boregy—but Mikhail. Nothing must happen to make Mikhail any less likely a successor. Nothing could be allowed to affect precious Mikhail's chances of acceding to Iosef s power in Merovingen.
Suddenly she wanted to strike her father, leap upon him and scratch his eyes out: Mikhail, Mikhail, Mikhail. All her life, no matter how well she'd performed or how hard she strove, that idiot brother of hers was always in her way.
Dozens of times, she foiled Anastasi's clumsy plans and maneuvers to build his own strength at Iosef s expense, and never had her father so much as admitted that she'd done well, or done anything. No matter what she did, she could never prove herself more worthy than Mikhail, who was guileless, stupid, worthless... but a man, and Iosef s choice of successor.
She gritted her teeth and endured the rest of the interview. She was no longer sorry that her father had found her with Chance. Perhaps she'd acquire some of Chance's power by association. For Iosef was treading carefully with Magruder, though the Nev Hetteker might not have an inkling that this was the case.
Maybe now Iosef would notice her—at least as something more than his daughter who squabbled with Anastasi and whose machinations must be held in check. Perhaps, at last, Iosef would give credit where credit was due.
He'd asked her to handle Chamoun, that was something. And he was using her association with Magruder to involve the foreigner in House business, which was even more: she and Magruder could go public now, if they chose.
There was, finally, a percentage in showing, rather than hiding, the strength she'd gained from forging an alliance with Nev Hettek's ambassador.
Otherwise, Iosef would have forbidden them ever to see each other again. She'd half expected it. Iosef had destroyed other relationships of hers, on grounds that this or that man wasn't suitable.
It seemed ironic that the one man her father hadn't dismissed like a house servant was one she herself didn't trust.