Falcon felt a sudden urge to run up to Angel’s suite. Instead, he followed Roman to an ornate wood-carved door, hoping the jewel tycoon would remain in good spirits as the story unfolded. “How is she?”
“She hasn’t slept in days. We’ve been so worried about her. She won’t talk.” Roman gestured to a leather wing chair opposite a huge claw-foot oak desk. “But you look ready to burst with confession. So, tell me what this is all about.”
He waited until Roman handed him a tumbler full of brandy before he began his story. When he mentioned the Stradivarius, which had belonged to Marchese Carlo Falco, Roman‘s thick brows came together.
“I think Amelie needs to hear this, too.” Roman pressed the intercom button on the phone and connected to the Blue Room.
Falcon stood up when Amelie Cardiff entered the room. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Her hair was up in a smooth twist, but those auburn curls made you wonder why she didn’t let them tumble down her back. But then, she was older in this present day than she had been as Jacqueline Bouveau St. Clair. There was hardly any physical change, save for the allure of maturity and confidence that only experience would bring.
Angel had inherited her mother’s heart-shaped face, but her raven hair and height branded her Roman’s daughter.
Falcon wondered again, where she was and tamped down the urge to ask.
Amelie’s eyes widened at the sight of him. She stood stock-still, and a look passed between husband and wife before she welcomed him with hugs and kisses. Only after he had satisfied her questions about the family in Italy did she sit in the chair next to his.
Falcon regained his seat. Amelie continued to stare at him until he grinned at her. “I know it’s been a long time and I’m sorry for that.”
“Yes, you should be ashamed of yourself. It feels like centuries.”
He closed his mouth. A very interesting choice of words…
“Sacha was so upset when you never came back,” Amelie was saying.
“But he is here now.” Roman’s gaze was steady on him.
Amelie’s slow nod of approval seemed a little too intent. “And he’s grown into the man he was meant to be.”
She knows! Falcon kept his silence in this intriguing exchange while they sized him up. The situation was surreal. How many people had the chance to go back to another lifetime and relive experiences that explained your very life?
At one time, he would have thought it was impossible, but now he knew that life was just as supernatural as love.
He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Where is Angel?”
“Haven’t seen her this morning.” Roman turned to his wife. “Armand has been telling me about a Stradivarius that belongs to the current Duke Falco.”
“And what do you know about the duke’s family?” Amelie’s tone was light but her eyes held a hopeful glint.
All or nothing. “I know that I was Marchese Carlo Falco, heir to the Duke of Amadeo.” He waited agonizing minutes while they stared at him.
“Oui, nephew to King Vittorio of Sardinia,” Amelie whispered. She rose and gave him a fierce hug.
Roman came around the desk, clapping him on the back again.
“You have returned to us.” Amelie was crying.
“It seems like yesterday.” He shook his head in a rush of relief and turned to Roman. “But you don’t remember?”
“Only some of the very emotional experiences, not all.” Roman sighed. “But Amelie relived it. She has helped me remember some things.”
“I knew the moment I saw you!” Amelie took his hands in her excitement. “Armand, only the three of us know. Roman and I never told another soul.”
“Angel won’t believe this. Is she coming down?”
Roman shook his head. “She doesn’t remember. We never told her about you because we weren’t sure if you two would find each other in this lifetime, as we have.” He took hold of his wife.
“We didn’t want her searching her whole life for someone she might not ever meet.” Amelie kissed Roman.
Falcon watched them. The great love they had for one another was their destiny.
Angel was his.
“She’s not going to swallow this tale of past lives,” he said.
They fell into ruminating silence.
Amelie sighed. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”
“Lunch is served.” James stood at the door.
“Angel?” He was starting to sound like a parrot with one, beloved note.
Roman shared an amused smile with Amelie. “I’m afraid it will be just the three of us. Leif is in London, Miles has gone off with his American beauty, and Sacha has taken to being a slug-a-bed lately. Don’t worry, she’ll be down soon. In the meantime, you can tell us why she’s so angry with you.”
They ate in the Wilton room, a dark paneled dining room next to the library.
Falcon started from the beginning, ten years ago when he had taken on the case of the missing Stradivarius. When Roman asked him questions about the Organization he explained without reservation.
Yes, he was violating policy, which could get an operative terminated, but he didn’t care. He had as much trust in these two sitting with him now as he did in his parents.
He shared a past with Roman and Amelie that bound them together in the same way as he was to their daughter. Although it was yet unspoken, Falcon was certain Angel’s parents knew the real reason for his visit.
He told them about il Dragone and Amelie was in tears. Roman demanded the names of the kidnappers.
Falcon gave them the same edited story that he and the team had given Darien. In the past, Margaux’s parents had not known of her power. As far as he knew, Margaux had only confided in Carlo. Judging from the way they spoke now, Falcon had the impression that her parents didn’t know of her powers in this life either. How could they when she herself had not yet come to the realization?
“The Organization is handling Alfonso Ruggiero and his cult. I’ll keep you updated on the legal proceedings. With the mountain of evidence against him, Ruggiero and his associates will go away for a very long time,” he assured them.
Roman went to the sideboard and poured vodka into a tumbler. “Armand?”
Falcon shook his head.
Roman drained the glass. “You are very good at what you do.”
“Angelina did her part. The kidnappers never knew whom they held in the catacombs, and so ransom for the daughter of Cardiff Jewels never factored into the equation. It could have been worse.” He left it at that. Better not go into the number of people he and the team had killed in that explosion. Better yet to never mention the number of people he’d killed in the last ten years.
It’s not like he kept track. His barometer was the criminal acts. When they were done, he was too.
Better not to mention that either.
“She’ll bow out of the symphony and stay home, of course,” Roman returned to his seat.
“But she’s lived her life for this opportunity.” Amelie took Roman’s hand. “Chérie, she will never forgive you if you force her to abandon this goal. Armand will be with her.”
If I can get her to stay in the same country with me, he thought.
“Very well,” Roman conceded. “But she remains under your supervision in Italy.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“What’s wrong?” Amelie asked.
“She is very angry with me.”
“Go on.” Roman leaned back in his chair.
Falcon explained how he’d found out who the real violin thief was. “She thinks I was only after the violin.”
“She is not totally unaware of the connection between you,” Amelie assured him. “She chose you after all.”
“Until now, she has been consumed with her music,” Roman added. “Music is her life. That young fellow Jonathan couldn’t get past it.”
Falcon shot Roman a glance. “Jonathan?”
“Just a friend
of hers, nothing more. But then, you already know that,” Roman said dryly.
“Ah, yes. Yes, I do,” he admitted. “It just … happened. I wasn’t even aware of our past lives at the time, and I didn’t know who she really was, but we were drawn to each other…” He trailed off, uncomfortable with his new self that woke up in the hospital intent on revealing all.
As awkward as it was to talk to Angel’s parents about her deflowering, he knew that nothing could have stopped the two of them from coming together in Italy.
“It was destined to be.” Amelie’s remark mirrored his own thoughts.
“Quite right,” Roman said. “Armand, I am forever grateful to you for getting her out of Forlì safely. If there is ever anything I can do to repay you, anything at all,” Roman said.
Falcon cleared his throat. “There is one thing you can do for me, the both of you, I mean.” He glanced at Amelie.
Amelie touched his cheek. “What is it?”
“I am here to ask for her hand in marriage.”
“And you may have it.” Roman nodded as if that settled the matter, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “But there is something troubling you.”
Falcon sat back. “I am afraid she will say no.” He jerked both hands through his hair. “I can see her trying to claw me to death just for having the nerve to ask the question.”
“She is already yours, she just doesn’t realize it yet,” Amelie assured him. “Besides, now that she has had some time to think, I’m sure she’ll be reasonable.”
Roman’s grin widened into what looked to be some type of bizarre satisfaction. “Ah, therein lays the problem.”
Falcon rubbed his eyes over the quandary. The only other man in the room understood exactly what he was feeling. Roman knew his daughter could be so stubborn it was infuriating. In fact, he appeared happy he wasn’t the only one who found her to be so.
Amelie stuck her spoon back into the chocolate mousse, as if she'd lost her appetite. “Maybe you should wait.”
“Wait for what?” He gave her a doubtful look, but something inside of him was hoping she had an answer.
“Another miracle,” Roman’s mutter turned into a cough when Amelie gave him a look.
They fell into silence once again. And then Amelie’s green eyes glinted. “You must help her remember. Take her to the chateau.”
Chapter Twelve
Sacha went to the Blue Room but Mum wasn’t there. Jewelry sketches in various stages of production were lying on a long table against one wall, and Chopin was playing over the speakers.
Anne arranged flowers on a coffee table, and gave her a slow perusal. “Yellow makes everything brighter. Doesn’t it, my dear?”
“A bit done up for staying at home but yes, you do have subtle ways of interfering with melancholy.” Sacha had to admit that Anne had laid out one of her favorite dresses this morning. The crocheted bodice was special.
“Where’s Mum and Dad?”
Anne chuckled.
“What is it, Annie?”
Anne smiled wider. “In the Wilton Room, dear.”
Sacha walked across Haddon Hall. The great room boasted two fireplaces, one at each end and in between there were antique tapestries. Glass display cases containing model ships shared space with bronze relief sculptures from her great-grandfather Ian’s travels.
She went through an alcove leading out of the hall, and opened the heavy walnut carved door to the Wilton Room. “I need to talk…”
Armand was sitting at the claw-foot dining table with her parents. He was getting up when Mum put a hand over his to keep him in the seat.
“Ma petite, come, sit.” Her mother gestured to the chair next to Armand.
Sacha’s heart thumped against her ribcage. She looked from her mother to Armand and then to her father, who winked at her.
“Sacha, aren’t you going to welcome Armand?” Her father had the uncanny ability to be both stern and engaging at the same time, surely a requisite for heading one of the most successful jewelry design firms in the business.
When it was obvious that she was not going to greet Armand with kisses, her father smiled at her mother. He got up and held the chair out for her, but Sacha took his seat instead, which was opposite Armand and as far away from him as she would get at this table.
“Right, then.” Her father sighed, and sat down in the seat he’d pulled out for her.
“Angel, how are you?”
The longing in Armand’s words was such that she couldn’t look him in the eye. She folded her hands in her lap. “Fine.”
She had grown accustomed to the intimacy of her nickname on Armand’s lips. She missed even that. It brought back their music-filled days and love-fest nights together in the little apartment in the Casa di Città.
He had come for her. Why?
In an attempt to forget him over the last week, she had convinced herself that she was merely an assignment to him, a job well done. And now, in the middle of the il Dragone investigation, he was here in England.
“Well, you two have a lot to talk about.” Her father stood, and took her mother’s hand. He glanced at Armand. “We’ll talk later.”
“Wait, what?” Sacha watched the door close behind them.
The silence lengthened.
Armand’s gaze went from her crocheted bodice to the strappy sunflower sandals.
Anne, the matchmaker. Her gaze fell to her lap. Whatever had occurred in here today put her parents squarely on Armand’s side.
“Your black circles match mine,” he joked.
She lifted her eyes to his face. He hadn’t slept either, and he looked … hungry.
“Finirò per impazzire senza di te.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Was he really going crazy without her? She wanted to believe him, but she refused to believe he loved her as much as she loved him.
Hadn’t he been after the Stradivarius all along?
He got up and sat down in the chair next to her. “I know what’s bothering you. You think it won’t work between us because of … what I do.” He moved to touch her hair, but she turned away.
“And you don’t believe I love you.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Cara, you are every waking thought I’ve had since I watched you get on that plane. I waited as long as I could to come after you, but that was always my intention.” Armand shook his head. “You told them nothing.”
“I was going to but I couldn’t.”
“Well, now they know and they want to talk to you.”
She nodded. “Did you tell them about us?”
“They know why I’m here.” He stared her down, and she had no words.
“What if I told you I’m leaving fieldwork?”
Sacha quirked her lips in wry amusement. “You love your work.”
“I love you, Angel.”
“Armand, you are driven by the Organization. You’re only kidding yourself if you think you can do without it.”
“Things are different now.”
“Not so very different. You are still Falcon. The name suits you. You are a tracker, a relentless killer when you have to be.” She looked into his eyes. “Isn’t that the truth?”
“That bothers you.”
“Yes. I mean no. Not really. I just can’t imagine you doing anything else in life. How does an international spy and assassin participate in a relationship? Would you give me a goodbye kiss on your way out the door to kill in Kiev, armed with yet another fake identity—maybe Ruslan or Sergei—see you in six months?”
“Armand! Is that you? I didn’t believe Mum.” Miles came into the room, wrapped in a terry cloth robe and toweling his chestnut curls.
“Miles!” Grinning from ear to ear, Armand gave her brother a bear hug. He stepped back to look at Miles. “You’re going to be tall when you grow up.”
“Dream on, I passed you seven years ago! Go on, get a suit on and we’ll settle this in the pool.”
“It wouldn’t be fair. I can see you’ve already
knocked yourself out trying to break my record,” Armand said.
“Your record? Will you listen to this?” Miles glanced at her, but didn’t wait for an answer as they jostled each other. The boys were having too much fun without her. Always had.
“So, where is this American beauty your father mentioned?” Armand asked.
Miles shrugged. “I thought she might drive up with me for the weekend, but something came up. She had to stay home in London. Wait until you see her.”
Sacha groaned. “Lovesick Muddy.”
“Is the pot really calling the kettle black?” Miles grinned when she shut her mouth. He turned back to Armand. “How long are you staying?”
Armand glanced at her, and she looked at the soup tureen in the center of the table. “Not long.”
“Give us a ring next time you’re in town. I want you to meet my American beauty.” Miles tossed the towel onto the table and scanned what was left of lunch. “Speaking of which; haven’t you been lost in the Big Apple all these years?”
“He knew where you were?” Sacha looked from one to the other.
“No,” Armand said quickly.
“Of course I did,” Miles said. “I saw Zio in Germany a couple of months ago. He told me what you’ve been up to.”
Armand turned to her. “I didn’t know he knew,”
“Right. Well, it’s comforting to know I’m not the only one you were hiding from.”
“Angel…”
“Have you finally come to stake your claim? She’s been pining away for you, you know.” Miles picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and started chomping.
She got up from the chair. “Muddy!”
Miles was staring at Armand, who was staring at her.
She moved further away from the heat in his eyes.
Miles guffawed. “Oh, ho! You have already claimed your prize!” He clapped Armand on the back. “Now, wouldn’t I be remiss in my duties as big brother if I neglected to ask when’s the wedding?”
“Angel, wait.”
But she was already running out of the room.
* * * *
A kaleidoscope of faces blended into each other, scenes of places she’d never been. She tried to hold on to the fleeting snapshots, some familiar to her, though she couldn’t say why. Others were confusing. Images from history lessons, long dead kings and courtesans that impressed her enough to be part of the dream.
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