His eye caught a bright spot on the left, and he turned. It was nothing more than moonlight reflecting on a glass display case.
He did not feel as if he were being watched. The attic was silent and still. He was the only being here and yet he wondered why he still believed in the Lady of the Manor.
He believed in the legend now. The Lady protected this manor. For almost two hundred years, the home his ancestor Captain Cardiff built stood with nary a worry. There was never a fire in over hundred rooms, through the age of gas lamps. Major roads were planned far enough away not to anger the manor’s residents, yet close enough for comfort, without any family influence. Save for regular maintenance such as new roofs and windows the home was preserved, in her honor.
The Lady of the Manor was here in every flagstone he’d walked as a child, every blade of grass he’d plucked in his mother’s garden and in the hundreds of varieties of roses that bloomed there.
He thought of all the sightings of the Lady he’d heard of. His mother had spoken to the Lady and before her, his grandmother. He could not recall one encounter with the Lady involving a man in his family. It seemed the Lady only checked in with each generation’s matriarch.
The Lady of the Manor visited Amelie on several occasions. She wanted Amelie here as much as he did. The unreasonable thought to never let Amelie go home grew stronger as he stood in the darkness. The design project he’d started with her would end at some point. How he would keep her here he did not know, but he was certain she belonged here. Amelie was important, not only to him but to the manor.
“Very well, then,” he said to the rafters. “I’ll do it. I will not let her go home,” and then shook his head. “Who am I talking to?” Pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, he decided he needed some sleep.
He walked slowly through the darkness to the attic stairwell.
* * * *
For the most part, they’d been holed up in his bedroom since the investigation turned up a connection between his father and Michel Garamonde. The entrepreneurs shared the same prominent physician, Otto Von Haber, who attended to the elder Garamonde at his home in the Swiss Alps. Von Haber was now being held for questioning in Giles Cardiff’s death.
Security Chief Bryant arranged for a physician operative, Dr. Karl Frein, to take over the ailing Garamonde’s care, and learn what he could about the Garamonde’s motives against Cardiff Jewels.
The news headlines said Garamonde’s motive was to take control of Cardiff Jewels. That was the obvious motive, but the ailing Garamonde hadn’t gotten very far with that.
Roman wasn’t satisfied with that motive, not anymore. There was Emil and Coty Auomine, and now blood jewels. Exactly what fueled this hatred the Garamondes had for his family?
Amelie was consoling him the best way she knew how, and though he had mourned his father’s passing over a year ago, he wanted this time with her and left his body in her capable hands.
There was something different about her now. Ever since she woke from the coma three weeks ago, her spirit was unleashed and something inside of him was opening to her, knowing that she was not afraid of him anymore.
It was time to talk, though. They didn’t have all the answers yet, and she knew something, he was certain of it.
There were too many covert stares covered by that sexy quirk of her upper lip when he caught her watching him.
He smiled to himself at her furtive glance when he went to retrieve the breakfast tray Caroline had left in the sitting room. The minute he sat back down at the table, he started in on her.
“Amelie, I found some things…”
“Roman, I know who Jacqueline was…”
He flipped one long auburn curl above her breast. “You first, sweetheart.”
“Mon cher, have you ever felt at home in a place you have never been before?”
He nodded, but she stopped. Lost her nerve? It was time to have done with this pretense.
“The Lady of the Manor will not come to me,” he said. “Why?”
Amelie swallowed her eggs and put the fork down. She stared at him and nodded slowly as if satisfied with what she saw in his eyes. “I think her job is done here. She wanted us to remember.”
“What do you remember, Amelie?”
No answer.
“I knew exactly where to find the beauty mark on your sweet little bum.”
That was all the encouragement she needed.
“You will not believe me…,” she warned, keeping her voice low even though they were quite alone in his suite.
“I am not so certain of that.” He picked her up and deposited her on the bed, where she sat cross-legged in the center. He leaned against the mahogany headboard, a pillow at his back, listening to their first meeting in Asnières-Sur-Seine…in 1789.
He’d called her bluff and, by God, he was speechless. It had actually happened.
At first, he didn’t want to believe her and wondered about coma victims and the hazy fantasies they lived in during their time away from the real world.
Here he was with a glimpse or two into the past, which he’d earlier dismissed as stress and overwork. Then there was Amelie, who spoke long into the afternoon and seemed intent on leaving nothing out.
The detailed descriptions of her fantasy world and its inhabitants eventually chipped away at his disbelief, which he finally recognized as a protective instinct. His logical mind would be protected no more. He could see the blood rubies of her fantasy and how they encircled an alabaster neck he knew so well.
Sometimes she would cry; the memories too fresh in her mind, and he held her.
She painted the picture of their time together so clearly that he felt the passion, pain and rage of their long ago love.
Mercifully, it was done; her story was over.
He coaxed her down with him onto the bed where she lay in his arms and cried herself into an exhausted sleep.
* * * *
It was after ten o’clock in the evening when Roman and Amelie went for a swim. They walked hand-in-hand to the heated pool and stripped off their swimsuits to stand under the shower.
She would never have gone skinny-dipping before Roman. Now she felt free to do whatever she wanted. He had changed her life. There was never anything wrong with what they did together.
They glided side-by-side in the water. It was warm, swirling around them, soothing and erotic. After a few laps, they came together at the shallow end. Roman held her, braced against the side of the pool.
“You know, May eighteenth is the day I woke up in Asnières-Sur-Seine,” she said while he nibbled her lips.
He leaned back. “And you returned to me on April eighteenth. A month difference, but close. What are you saying, destiny has a schedule?”
“I just feel like I’m forgetting something important. I wonder about the timing of it all.”
“There are many things we will never be able to explain, Beauty.” He started on her lips again.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, deciding to let the matter rest for now.
They began a gentle dance, their bodies sliding against each other, the water enveloping them, lifting them.
He slid into her until she covered him. Like a wave he receded, pulling out as the water swirled in and around their joined hips.
His passion made her dizzy, and she closed her eyes. Feeling the warmth spread through her like liquid fire, she leaned her forehead against his and steadied herself.
She gripped his hips with her legs, and he drove home once more, his strength tender, constant and unerringly hitting the mark. She convulsed around him.
“Roman…” she leaned back on a gasp as one delicious wave after another washed over her.
His hand cupped her buttocks, grinding her hips down onto his pulsing organ, and she was marooned on the sweet plane of consciousness he had conjured up.
That’s when he picked up his pace. No longer the gentle giant, he lifted her hips and slammed into her.
<
br /> Here was the beast in her lover; this one could not get enough of her flesh.
When he shuddered and filled her, she was mewling again with the aftershocks of pleasure.
Chapter 7
St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire, England – May 12, 1988
“Are you sure you won’t come along?” Roman asked for the third time this morning.
“I’d better stay here and work out that bracelet design for the emerald set. I don’t want to fall behind schedule. Speaking of which…” She jumped out of bed.
He took her hand. “I thought I’d managed to put a dent in your suit of armor. A few days away from the drafting board won’t matter, Beauty.”
“I’d say it was more like several weeks, considering our trip to France. And besides, I do not want to disturb your meetings. And since you won’t let me go into town without you, I am stuck inside this very beautiful prison.”
“It is just a precaution until Chief Bryant completes his investigation,” he said.
“His ongoing investigation? You bring a whole new meaning to the term ‘kept woman,’ monsieur.” She laughed at his scowl.
He sat on the edge of the bed in his suit. “Come with me to Germany.”
“You cannot hide me away from the world forever, and I will not have it said that I kept the boss from his responsibilities.” She caressed his cheek. “Do not worry, mon cher, I have not had any fainting spells…”
“But you were winded the other day on the moors. I knew the walk was too long for you.”
“I like the way the wind whips out there. Will you take away the pleasure of our walks?” She nibbled his bottom lip. “And the secret places we discover together?”
He arched a brow. “That is a low blow, Beauty, to bring our pleasure into it. Very well then, you may go out, but only as far as Scarborough.”
“Do you realize how imperious you sound right now?”
He ignored that comment. “Take Anne and one of the guards on your jaunts into town.”
He then gave her a proper goodbye, which left her pliant in his arms again. His suit lay crumpled on the floor. She helped him pick out another, and now he was running behind schedule.
“James will have to do some creative driving to get me to the airport on time.” He picked up his cell and she followed him downstairs.
She waved as the Bentley swerved around the courtyard fountain. “If anyone can do it, James can,” she said to the dust the tires kicked up as the car sped down the main drive.
Back in her suite, she had a long soak in the rose-themed bathroom before going down to the study.
It was Khan’s habit to spend mornings in the study, even when Roman wasn’t home. She would eat breakfast at Roman’s desk to keep the Great Dane company.
She gave Khan a few bacon strips, which he took back to his rug in front of the fireplace. He sat on his haunches, blissfully gnawing his breakfast.
When she had her fill, she pushed the plate away. “So, want to see how the emerald set is shaping up?”
Khan gave a low rumble of indifference and lay on his side.
Amelie chuckled. “Sorry to bore you. Let’s take a look at the mail first.” Fingering the peach blooms in the silver flute next to the mail, she read the correspondence and inquiries from Harold.
A letter-sized envelope from London caught her attention. She sliced through the envelope with the letter opener, wondering who she knew in London, and withdrew a single sheet of paper that contained bold face type:
LEAVE NOW OR HE IS NEXT
She dragged her eyes from the cryptic message, for there was more to see.
Below the disturbing line was a news-clipping photo of Roman at some event. Someone had smeared red marker across the white tuxedo shirt, in a grotesque representation of blood.
There were two other clippings taped to the paper; one with a picture of socialite Constance Billows. The caption under the blue-eyed blonde’s face read “Tragic Accident Befalls Heiress on Jewel Tycoon’s Property.”
Constance Billows must be the dead fiancé.
She’d known it was not Jacqueline who was shot at the hunting party but it still shocked her to see Lady Rebecca Forsythe’s face on the smiling socialite. They were entangled in a repeating tableau…
In the other clipping, Emil Garamonde stared arrogantly into the camera with a hand raised as if warding off the photographer.
Her shaking fingers searched the envelope, but there was no return address.
Mon Dieu. The shot in March that had missed Roman in the deer park was no stray. The person who sent her this warning was the cause of her accident last month. That rope had been meant for Roman.
The letter crumpled in her hand. Someone wanted him dead. And whoever it was, now admitted to causing the deaths of Constance Billows and Emil Garamonde.
She held onto the table to get up from the chair. Somehow, she made her way upstairs to her bedroom. She fell upon the bed in tears and hugged herself, trying to keep the pieces of her breaking heart together.
She’d wanted to believe that Coty Aumoine had killed Emil but that was not true.
The killer was still alive, and knew of her.
She was responsible for the attempts against Roman’s life. Why else would this terrible threat be sent to her?
She mentally ran down a list of the people she and Roman had encountered over the last few months. No one stood out in her mind. Maybe someone from his past, a lover he had pushed aside for her sake?
Old insecurities came flooding back into her mind. In this life, they had met only three months ago. Though she knew him well, it was possible someone knew him better, longer than she had.
And he did not love her. He had never once mentioned love. She’d never mentioned her feelings to him either. He’d said once that they were adults and could sleep with anyone they chose to. But that wasn’t what she was doing. She didn’t know what she was doing, but one thing she was certain of: she would die if anything happened to Roman.
The tears turned into dry, hacking sobs and still she lay there, holding her aching head, crippled with her pain.
Chapter 8
Cardiff Estate, Rhine Valley, Koblenz, Germany – May 13, 1988
“What do you mean she is gone?” Roman shouted.
He was standing in the guest bedroom, angling his cell phone toward the window slit in the castle’s stone wall. He could hardly understand James through the bad connection. “How could you let her go?”
“Sir, Miss Amelie said if I did not take her to the airport, she would walk to it. Anne tried to convince her to return to the house, but she refused. She was very upset, sir.”
“Why? Why did she leave?” Roman paced the floor.
“I don’t know, sir. She didn’t say.”
Maybe she was not feeling well. But she hadn’t mentioned anything to him when he’d left yesterday morning.
“Did she go back to New York?” He would have to bow out of today’s meeting and leave this morning. James hadn’t answered him yet. “James?”
“Sir, she didn’t want us to know. She made us leave her at the airport.”
She didn’t want him to know where she had gone. She was upset with him. But why? How could she leave at a time like this?
They were a team now, personally and professionally. They were involved in these strange happenings and had to see it through together. Didn’t she realize that?
“James, I’m going after her. I don’t know where, but I am going to find her. And I don’t know when we’ll be home. I’ll call you.”
“Yes sir.”
Roman swore a colorful oath. France to her parents? Or back to New York?
He and Dylan had gotten home so late last night that he did not call Amelie. She usually went to bed early and he did not want to wake her. He had been about to call this morning when he’d received James’s call.
Doctor Latham had cautioned them on the side effects of a coma. She could black out at any time or ev
en experience loss of memory. He should have never left her alone in Yorkshire. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her.
He looked at the clock on the bedside table. Nine o’clock in the morning. Though it was only three o’clock in the morning in New York, he picked up the phone on the night table and connected long distance.
* * * *
“If she left, perhaps your business is concluded.” Dylan leaned against the bureau.
“It will never be concluded, Dylan,” Roman ground out through clenched teeth as he shoved his things into the garment bag on the bed.
“I see, and what is this business you two have with each other?”
“There’s the project, and…”
“Yes?”
“Amelie and I work very well together, and I’m thinking of hiring her on.”
Dylan was grinning at him.
Roman grabbed his travel pack off the bureau. “Well, you don’t have an artistic bone in your body, you refuse to leave this medieval castle filled with another family’s history that your father acquired on a drunken shopping spree and for all that, you are the only cousin sober enough to run the plant. I need help in Yorkshire. Amelie will do.”
“ ‘Will do?’ From what I hear you two are inseparable.”
“All right, Dylan, all right. I know you won’t let up until I’ve given a full confession. I…I think I love her. But this is old news to you, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Right. The only other thing James pries into besides the wine cellar is my personal life.”
Dylan’s features broke into a grin. “That I had to hear it from him instead of my own flesh and blood is already forgotten. And that it takes the baffling notions in a woman’s mind for you to come to me, well, that’s fine, too.”
“What did you promise him, a fifty-year old Single Malt Scotch? I know he’s been after that lately as he’s swum through most of ours.”
“You never know what you might find in the bowels of an ancient castle. But now that it is officially out in the open, I knew it! I told Maddy you were going to come around one day. She did not believe me, she thought you would never settle down,” Dylan crowed.
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