Читать книгу By Royal Demand - Robyn Donald - Страница 4

GABE CONSIDINE looked up from his desk, his hard steel-blue eyes meeting those of his younger brother. ‘So tell me I’m crazy,’ he invited him curtly.

Marco’s frown turned into wry amusement. ‘You’re crazy.’

Gabe got to his feet and strode across to the window, looking out across the walls, still intact, that surrounded the castle. For almost a thousand years his forebears had lived in the Wolf’s Lair and protected the trade route crossing the mountains between the rest of Europe and the small principality of Illyria on the Mediterranean Sea. Forty years previously, civil war, treachery and death had driven his grandparents, the incumbent Grand Duke and Duchess, to fight with partisans in the mountains until their deaths in an ambush. Although Gabe and his siblings had been born in exile, Marco knew that he felt a strong sense of obligation to the people who had suffered so long, secretly hoping that their lord would come back to them.

Gabe’s richly textured voice showed no emotion when he said, ‘Then come up with a better idea.’

‘What about good old-fashioned threats?’ Marco’s voice deepened into a music-hall villain’s sneer. ‘Tell me where the necklace is or I’ll bankrupt you and throw your mother out into the snow.’

‘Her mother’s dead. And threats will be more effective if she’s here, unable to get away.’

‘A prisoner, you mean,’ Marco said flatly.

Gabe shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s been held prisoner here.’

‘Mostly they were hostages rather than prisoners.’

Gabe, Marco and their sister had grown up steeped in stories of their Illyrian heritage. One such hostage had joined the ranks of their ancestors by marrying the ruling Grand Duke.

Marco asked, ‘What if Sara refuses to admit she stole the necklace?’

Gabe lifted a black brow to devastating effect.

‘Then I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get the Queen’s Blood back.’

The stark, medieval name of the necklace containing some of the most valuable rubies in the world still lifted the hairs on Marco’s skin. ‘Strange that any woman would happily wear something with a name like that.’

His brother gave a sardonic smile. ‘Women like pretty things, even those with a barbaric history. And the Queen’s Blood is more than pretty—it’s magnificent, unique and irreplaceable. Flawless rubies that size are no longer being mined. And then there’s the mystery of how they got from Burma to Europe, and who set them in solid gold. Some unknown Dark Age genius? Or is the necklace the sole remaining work of an unknown civilisation?’

Marco gave a snort of laughter. ‘Come on, now, don’t tell me you believe that old story—that it was made in Atlantis?’

His brother’s mouth twisted cynically. ‘Hardly. But, given all that, not many women would care that the original owner died on the mountainside a few kilometres from here, stabbed in the heart by the leader of a band of brigands. Of late, I find I have some sympathy with him.’

Marco understood the cold self-derision in his brother’s tone. Falling in love with a woman, only to have her steal the priceless Considine heirloom, was definitely not like his cynical, hard-headed brother, noted around the world for his ruthless logic and brilliance. Oh, Gabe had had affairs, but they were always discreetly conducted, and the thought of him actually falling in love was—well, difficult to imagine!

It had been an unlikely romance—a man of ancient heritage with the world at his feet, and a woman from nowhere, struggling to make a career as an interior designer.

Yet Gabe had taken one look at Sara Milton and fallen head over heels, breaking every rule in his book with a whirlwind courtship pursued almost entirely in the full spotlight of the world’s media.

Two weeks after their engagement had been announced to an incredulous public, he’d insisted that Sara wear the Queen’s Blood at a ducal wedding in the south of France.

It was a night he’d never forget, Marco thought grimly, and not only because the rubies’ dramatic beauty, glowing with fiery glamour in heavy, exquisitely worked gold, had set off Sara’s dark hair and smoky grey-green eyes superbly. Each magnificent stone had been a perfect foil for her pale, matt skin.

That night the necklace had disappeared, stolen from a safe in the château Sara was staying at—a safe she’d chosen the combination for.

It still made Marco furious that she’d tried to blame the maid, but Gabe had seen through her ploy.

Although the theft had been kept secret, three days later a brief, uncommunicative announcement of the termination of the engagement between Gabe Considine and Sara Milton had set the media on fire again. Some of the more delirious tabloids had called it the scandal of the century.

Marco met Gabe’s hard, intelligent gaze. ‘You’re still absolutely certain she took it? There was no hard evidence to connect her with the theft, after all, and you’d know if she’d tried to sell it.’

In a tone that warned his brother to go no further, Gabriel said, ‘She stole it.’ He cut off Marco’s next observation with a crystalline glance. ‘If she hasn’t sold it, it’s because she doesn’t dare to. I plan to convince her it will be worth her while to return it to me.’

Oh, Gabe could do that, Marco thought, a note in the cold voice making him even more uneasy. His brother’s potent charisma was based more on his formidable personal authority than the interesting mixture of princely and aristocratic bloodlines that had bequeathed him that autocratic face and the lean, powerful body standing well over six feet.

If anyone could seduce the heirloom’s whereabouts from Sara, Gabe could.

Nevertheless, Marco felt obliged to point out, ‘She was going to marry you, Gabe. She could have had the Queen’s Blood permanently.’

‘She’d already changed her mind about that,’ Gabe told him, his lips twisting in self-derision.

Only Marco and Gabe’s head of security—and one photographer—knew what his brother referred to: a damning shot snapped with a telephoto lens from outside the château where Sara had been staying the night the necklace disappeared.

It showed Gabe’s fiancée locked in the arms of the château’s owner, Hawke Kennedy. Both were naked, and the shot had been taken through the window of Sara’s bedroom.

The day after the Queen’s Blood had been stolen, the picture had arrived in Gabe’s e-mail with a threat to sell the negative to the highest bidder if a ransom wasn’t paid.

Marco said, ‘Has your security expert made any progress in finding out who the photographer was?’

‘Yes.’

‘I gather he won’t be publishing the photograph, no matter what happens?’

Gabe’s smile was as narrow and lethal as the blade of a knife. ‘No.’

‘So why didn’t you tell him to publish and be damned? I’d have said you’d be the last man on earth to let yourself be blackmailed into paying a ransom.’

‘Pride,’ Gabe said shortly. ‘Once it was confirmed to be genuine, I felt a complete fool for letting myself be conned into an engagement by a beautiful, clever thief. I resent being turned into an idiot by my own hormones.’

Marco said nothing, and after a moment his brother continued in the same dispassionate voice. ‘Apart from that, just before the theft Alex had suggested that I come back to Illyria and be confirmed as Grand Duke of the Northern Marches.’

Marco lifted his brows. ‘So?’

‘Once I broke off the engagement the newspapers had a field day.’

Marco grimaced. ‘Don’t remind me—the scandal of the century! But what did Alex’s proposition have to do with that—or the photograph?’

‘It complicated the situation.’ Gabe shrugged. ‘The Illyrians—especially here, in the mountains—still believe that they need to be led by strong men. As you well know, they’ve got fairly rigid ideas on the respective roles of men and women. The broken engagement was bad enough. If it became known that I’d fallen for a woman who slept with another man while she was plotting to steal the Queen’s Blood, the peasants would totally lose respect for me.’ He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Fair enough, but if I’m to do anything for them I need respect.’

‘So even then you were seriously thinking of taking up Alex’s suggestion?’

Alex, their several-times-removed cousin, had been crowned hereditary Prince of Illyria a few years previously by the determined and overwhelming will of the people. He now used his money and prestige to set his small realm, blighted by years of repression, onto the road to prosperity.

‘Yes,’ Gabe said. ‘It will be announced in a couple of weeks.’

Marco whistled. ‘So Sara missed out on being a Grand Duchess,’ he observed thoughtfully.

A singularly unpleasant smile curved Gabe’s mouth. ‘Sad, isn’t it?’

‘Why did you decide to take it on?’ Marco asked curiously. ‘You don’t need the power, and I know the title doesn’t mean much to you beyond a certain sentimental attachment to our ancestors. And you certainly don’t need any more money—not that it looks as though the estate’s going to produce anything for years. It’s just going to be a drain on your purse.’

Gabe had a big purse; like Marco, he’d carved out an empire in the piratical world of modern business with the zest and forceful flair their ancestors had devoted to keeping their turbulent lands in order. But the valley Marco had flown over that morning looked like something from a medieval print, with people huddled in tiny villages and no signs of modernisation beyond the military road the dictator had built through the pass.

Gabe shrugged and looked out over the valley, its serene beauty hiding the grinding poverty. ‘Every peasant in this valley was punished over and over again by the dictator because they were loyal to our grandparents. I owe them.’

Marco nodded. Responsibility was Gabe’s big thing. ‘You could help them without reverting to feudalism and becoming a ruling Grand Duke.’

His brother said ironically, ‘You know Alex’s powers of persuasion—after all, he talked you into taking on his software business so he could devote himself to Illyria.’

‘Yeah, he did.’ Marco grinned. ‘And I jumped at it. I’m having a ball. What’s your excuse?’

‘I’ve been coming here for the past year, trying to find out how I can best help these people, and they’ve made it plain that they want a Grand Duke, just as they wanted Alex back. It seems a psychological boost for the generation who remember the good old days, but even the younger people are eager.’

While Marco was digesting this, Gabe added caustically, ‘Which is why I felt that a photograph of my nude fiancée with her latest lover would taint both the title and Alex’s hard work.’

‘I see your point.’ Marco looked ironically at his older brother. ‘You should have charged the tabloids for providing material. First they went berserk when you and Sara announced your engagement, then a fortnight later you dumped her. Talk about starting a feeding frenzy!’

Marco still found it hard to believe that Sara Milton had stolen the necklace. Or taken Hawke Kennedy for a lover. OK, Sara was beautiful in a way that got to any man with decent eyesight and the smallest drop of testosterone in his body, but he’d also liked her very much.

Still, a likeable personality would be a very useful asset for a con woman.

Without any hope of persuading his brother, he felt obliged to point out, ‘If you go ahead with this crazy scheme, you’ll be leaving yourself open to more blackmail. Kidnapping is an offence in Illyria, Gabe. Even Alex might not be able to save you if Sara decides to press charges.’

He watched his brother’s boldly chiselled features harden. That same inflexible expression blazed from the portraits of their ancestors. Ruthless men—and women—known for their formidable, uncompromising loyalty to their prince and their superb skills in the art of war, they’d held the border with a mixture of intimidating authority and brutal intelligence.

Oh, Gabe would make a fitting Grand Duke. And he’d certainly help Alex with his plans to restore Illyria’s prosperity and confidence.

Still, Marco felt distinctly wary. Gabe was the last person he’d accuse of an obsession, but his brother seemed immune to any doubts.

When Gabe spoke, his voice was cold and deep, not betraying any emotion. ‘She’s coming here of her own free will.’

‘She doesn’t know this is your castle, or that you plan to keep her here until she gives you what you want.’

Gabe smiled unpleasantly. ‘Until she gives me what I own,’ he corrected. He surveyed his brother’s face. ‘Relax. I don’t plan to torture her or confine her to the dungeons. The minute she tells me where the necklace is she can go. And she won’t go to the police—or to the media.’ The icy contempt in his tone lifted the hairs on the back of Marco’s neck. ‘I imagine her last joust with them battered her enough to make her avoid them like the plague.’ He dismissed the topic as though it meant nothing and smiled at his brother, his affection plain. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘Yes. Anything you want me to relay to Alex?’

Gabe’s face softened. ‘Just give the baby a hug for me.’

Marco grinned. ‘I’ll do that. Fancy picking you to be his godfather! Still, you’re good with kids.’ He sobered swiftly. ‘I don’t like this, Gabe, but I know better than to try and talk you out of it. Just—take care, will you?’

Gabe shrugged. ‘I won’t need to. She’s on my territory this time, and I hold all the cards. Last time I was halfway across America when I heard what had happened; she was free to do what she wanted.’

He went down to the helicopter with Marco and watched it disappear down the valley towards the coast. Strolling back into the castle, he looked around, keen eyes noting the various things that needed to be done.

His brother was too easily swayed by a lovely face that managed to be gracious and composed even when Sara Milton was lying in her teeth.

But then, why should he blame Marco for that weakness? She’d fooled him, too, and, God knew, during his meteoric rise in the world’s rich list he’d rapidly learned to spot the signs of a woman intent on snaring a billionaire husband.

His arrogantly outlined mouth drew into a thin line. Yet he’d been a total idiot over Sara. In spite of his experience, he’d let himself be dazzled by her lovely face, serene eyes and passionate mouth. So much so, he’d lowered his guard enough to decide to marry her, and matched the heirloom Queen’s Blood with a ruby on her finger.

More fool him!

A light flashed in the gathering dusk over the mountain, and the distant thump-thump-thump of rotors gathered strength as another helicopter swooped towards the castle. Warily, he monitored his emotions.

He felt nothing, he was pleased to realise, beyond a compelling determination to shake the whereabouts of the necklace from her. Once that was done, he’d have the greatest pleasure in throwing her out of the castle and Illyria.

And then he’d never think of her again.