Читать книгу Blackmailed Bride - Sylvie Kurtz - Страница 12

Cathlynn O’Connell glanced around the living room of the monastery turned mansion, looking for her treasure with, she hoped, what passed for cool composure. Her heart fluttered with excitement, but she forced herself to present her usual calm professional appearance. People expected that from her; she’d built her reputation as a top-notch antiques dealer with her fairness and levelheadedness.

Where was the sculpture? What if—But no, she wouldn’t even entertain such a thought. The auction brochure had clearly printed the description, and the picture had left no doubt.

The Aidan Heart was here—somewhere.

Cathlynn removed her wool hat and gloves and dropped them on one of the folding chairs. A storm brewed outside. Strong winds pummeled the ancient stone structure—one of three buildings on the grounds. The promised inclement weather hadn’t kept people away from the auction. Cathlynn didn’t blame them. Nothing could have kept her away today.

She’d raced the dark, billowy clouds all the way from Nashua to the small village of Ste-Croix on the western edge of the White Mountains, and the old Ste-Croix Monastery. Slate skies had met white snow with nothing in between to give the illusion of depth except somber evergreens and the gray branches of winter-bared maples and beeches. Taking a wrong turn along the twisty country road, she’d almost ended up in the treacherous depths of the Ste-Croix River which fed eventually into Lake Winnipesaukee. But she’d made it.

And ten years of searching for the Aidan Heart would end today.

Inside the gray stone main house, people milled about, creating a soft buzz with their chatter. Curiosity seekers or competition? The cordial fire glowing in the hearth mellowed the wind’s strong bite, but couldn’t quite keep the chill out of the air. Cathlynn scanned the room once more. The fact the walls’ only adornment was a series of paintings portraying the austere monks of the Order of the Holy Cross in black-hooded habits didn’t help. It almost seemed as if the monks followed her every move, especially the one over the fireplace whose eyes glowed red in the firelight’s trail.

What kind of person would choose to live in such a bleak environment? An involuntary shiver slid down her spine.

As she crossed the room, she recognized several rival dealers and nodded a greeting. Noticing a side room from which people emerged, and guessing the auction goods’ location, she headed in its direction.

On a series of tables a collection of high-quality antiques crowded the small adjoining room. Cathlynn looked at the rich offerings, feigning interest while her heart beat strong with anticipation of finding the Aidan Heart. She spotted a lamp and several glass bowls she could easily place with her clients, but knew she wouldn’t bid on them.

She’d come to Ste-Croix for one thing and one thing only—the glass sculpture her great-great-grandfather had fashioned for his bride almost a hundred years ago. A gift of love tragically lost when Aidan and Deirdre O’Connell had left Ireland for the United States.

Now she held the precious gift in her sight.

As she approached the twelve-inch sculpture, Cathlynn held her breath. Though shaped like the pylon paperweights popular in the late 1800s, the similarity ended there. Rather than tool the glass into shape, the artist had handblown it so the glass folded over itself, forming hanging layers of translucence from light pink to dark purple to pure transparent, with a three-dimensional heart suspended, as if by magic, in its center. The whole rested on a flat square base.

It was perfect. More beautiful than she’d imagined. The glass spoke to her, flooding her with sensations of the past, of love, acceptance, happiness. She breathed deeply to tamp down the tears of joy threatening to fragment her careful composure.

With discreet awe and a trembling finger, Cathlynn reached out to touch the object of her intense search. The glass felt warm beneath her finger. She picked it up, feeling its solid weight in her hands for the first time. Turning it over carefully, she inspected every facet. Not a chip, not a scratch in sight. The room grew unbearably warm around her, making the glass pulsate with heat, coating her hands with sweat. Even the walls seemed to shimmer in a feverlike hallucination.

Her lips trembled. She clamped them down. She had to get hold of herself. She couldn’t let herself be drawn in by emotions. Staying cool, calm and collected—that would get her the prize, not foolish emotions.

With a deep reluctance, she set the sculpture down on the table once more and turned back to the main room. Maybe the imminent storm would keep most of her competition away. Few people realized the value of the piece, but perhaps some would be drawn into the bidding by its simple yet elegant charm.

No use worrying. She’d get the Aidan Heart even if she had to sell her soul for it.

By bringing the sculpture back to its rightful owner, she hoped to give a final glimpse of magic to her dying grandmother. Gram had done so much for her. Her summers at Gram’s house had brought a measure of peace to her chaotic childhood, the stories of Aidan and Deirdre’s love, the magic of belonging. And with the sculpture she’d brighten her grandmother’s last days, see the light of recognition shine one more time in her eyes. She owed her at least that much.

Two elderly ladies shuffling through the door blocked her exit from the room. Cathlynn stepped aside to let them pass.

“Do you suppose he’ll show up?” asked the one leaning on a cane.

“Who?” asked the one whose purple feather on her hat bobbed to a palsied rhythm.

“Jonas Shades. Who else?”

Jonas Shades. Why did the name seem so familiar? Where had she heard it before?

Purple Feather cocked a hand on her hip. “Bertha, you’ve no intentions of buying anything, do you? You dragged me out in this weather just to add fodder to your gossip fuel. I’ve a good mind to drag you right back home.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Bertha pretended indignation, then leaned closer to her companion’s ear. “My David says he’s been impossible to work for since his wife disappeared, that he’s lost his edge. Hasn’t been able to do anything. The research; it’s stopped. David says the man spends most of his days pacing. And you know how it is.… Well, I had to see for myself.”

Purple Feather’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Your grandson is as bad a gossip as you are.”

Bertha picked up a trinket from the nearby table and replaced it with barely a look. “David says that’s why he’s having the auction. David says he desperately needs cash for his research. Think of how it would affect the village if he left.”

“Someone else would come. Someone always does.” Purple Feather tried to pull Bertha along.

“Yes, but at what price to us? Remember what happened when the family lost the monastery after Jeremy Shades died? The village almost disappeared.”

“Come on.” The hat’s purple feather dipped wildly as the woman forcibly pulled her companion along. “The auction’s about to begin. Let’s go take our seats.”

Cathlynn followed the old ladies out the door. Bertha stopped abruptly, and Cathlynn nearly crashed into her.

“There he is,” Bertha whispered to her companion. “Oh my, he doesn’t look good at all, does he? I wonder if he’ll cancel the Christmas fete this year. What a disappointment that would be for everyone. But who could blame him with all this tragedy hanging over his head?”

Despite herself, Cathlynn couldn’t help following the old lady’s gaze to the tall man standing in the corner. He leaned his long, athletic frame against the wall, studying the room with undisguised contempt. His dark brown hair looked as if it had recently been raked by fingers. Deep-set eyes the color of squally clouds hid beneath low eyebrows, giving him an appearance as frosty as the winter storm announcing itself outside. Prominent cheekbones and a square jaw negated the promise of sensuality offered by his full mouth.

Not a man to tangle with, yet Cathlynn found herself drawn to the sheer power of his presence. Even when he tried to melt into the shadows, he filled the room.

Their gazes met and held for longer than was comfortable. The intensity of his gray eyes traveled all the way to her soul, and buffeted her with feelings she didn’t dare name. She put down the exciting sensation thrilling through her to the prospect of owning the Aidan Heart, not to the brooding man who stood in the corner.

Unexpectedly, the protection of her coat felt like candy glass, thin and transparent. She tightened it around her despite the insufferable warmth tingling her body. An echo of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on pinged deep inside.

The illusion of warmth faded from his eyes. When she realized his stare had hardened into hate, she shivered and turned away.

Why? She made her way back to her chair. What did I do? She removed her coat and self-consciously smoothed the skirt of her burgundy wool-blend shirt-dress, then picked up her brochure.

Jonas Shades. Where had she heard the name? She read the brochure’s cover and found the auction sponsored by the Monastery Company. She searched through the catalog of her mind, but came up empty. She’d never met the man—would have remembered if she had. Power that potent wasn’t easily forgotten.

She shrugged. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t driven all this way to solve the mystery behind the pained look in Mr. Jonas Shades’s eyes.

Suddenly, the front door blew open. Wind whipped through the opening. It whistled and snarled down the makeshift aisle, snapping the folding chairs in the back row to the ground with its unexpected ferocity. The audience turned in one movement.

“Do you suppose it’s her?” Bertha whispered to her companion.

“Who? The monks’ virgin sacrifice?” Purple Feather scoffed.

“Her. You know, his wife. The one who disappeared last month. I’ve heard people say they’ve seen her ghost about the place. Some even say he killed her himself in a fit of rage.”

Purple Feather jabbed Bertha in the ribs with her elbow. “There you go again, gossiping. No one’s sure she’s even dead. You should know by now people love to exaggerate everything because nothing ever happens here. The monks’ legend is just that—a legend.”

“Well, there’s always a grain of truth in every story. The monks do have a bloody history.”

“It’s just a myth!”

A heavy thump boomed and resounded down the corridor as a young man dressed in a suit too formal for the occasion closed the door, straightened the downed chairs, then took a seat in the back row.

The auctioneer banged his hammer and got the sale under way. He proceeded at a fast pace, for which Cathlynn was thankful. Turning her gaze to the corner of the room, she found Jonas Shades’s icy stare on her once more. The faster she got her prize, the sooner she could escape and leave behind the uncomfortable feeling settling in her gut.

“Now we have item number one hundred and thirteen. A piece of experimental Irish glass circa 1900 from the Summers Glasshouse. The artist is unknown, but the piece is often referred to as the Aidan Heart. Who will give me…”

She knew the market value, but she also knew she wanted the piece no matter what it cost. And that put her at a disadvantage. Would puffers, seeking to inflate prices, prey on her vulnerability? Would the auctioneer call phantom bids when he sensed the intensity of her desire? She’d bid tentatively at first to feel out the opposition. If she simulated a lack of interest, she might get the piece for below its market value.

Cathlynn waited patiently, breath held, while someone signaled to cut the opening bid in half.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer continued, “this is the finest example of Irish glass I’ve seen in a long time…”

The bidding went fast and furious. As the price of the piece rose to its market value, Cathlynn tightened her hold on her bidding card and tried to remain calm.

“This is no money for such a fine example of Irish glass…”

Beads of moisture formed along her hairline. Cathlynn put up her card.

“Remember, this is an original, ladies and gentlemen. You would pay more than this for a reproduction. Who will give me…”

The bidding was too high. Cathlynn’s armpits prickled with sweat. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles. As she calculated her options, her mind whirled.

I want it.

I need it.

No amount of cool reasoning could counter the irrational demand of her yearning.

She had to have it.

She put up her card.

“This should be a part of any serious glass collection…”

One card went up. Then another. She’d never dreamed the price would go so high. Oh God, she was going to lose the Aidan Heart after searching for it for ten years. She couldn’t let it go.

Licking her dry lips, she flung up her card, not sure how she’d manage to pay.

Jonas interrupted the auctioneer. A frantic whispered discussion passed between them, and Jonas, nodding once to someone in the back, left through the back door.

What was going on? Why had they stopped? Dreadful premonition swamped through her. No, they couldn’t stop. It wasn’t legal. She was so close. Her rapid pulse hammered her brain. Her hands unconsciously tightened around the bidding card, scrunching the flimsy cardboard.

The auctioneer cleared his throat and resumed his pitch. “Ladies and gentlemen…”

From the back of the room came a bid. A bid so ridiculous it took an instant to register into her brain.

“What!” Cathlynn jumped to her feet amid agitated whispers. She whirled, knocking her chair to the ground. “You can’t do that!”

The polished young man who’d closed the front door smiled at her, tilting his head sideways and lifting his eyebrows and shoulders in mock regret. Not a single black hair fell out of place. Not a single crease marred his expensive suit. Not a wrinkle worried his handsome features.

“David?” Bertha scrunched her eyes and peered at the young man. “Is that you?”

“Any further advances?” the auctioneer asked. He looked around the room. “Going once! Twice! Last time!” He brought his hammer down. The sound of finality exploded in Cathlynn’s mind. “Sold to number one for…”

She’d lost.

Cathlynn couldn’t believe it. After all this time, it couldn’t be true. Her heart banged painfully against her ribs. As her vision narrowed, the whole room swirled into a vortex, twisting everything into rushing black specters speeding toward her. The roar in her ear thundered over her thoughts, dousing them in a quagmire of thick, dark slime. Her limbs shook, ice-cold, numb. She couldn’t find air. She pulled in a harsh gulp. The air vanished before it found her lungs.

“Are you all right?” A strange voice pierced the dark abyss spinning all around her, releasing her.

“I’m fine.” She devoured the air in great mouthfuls. “I’m fine.”

Someone righted her chair and helped her into it. When she realized who stood above her, she trapped the young man’s hands in hers. “I want to buy the Aidan Heart from you.”

“Sorry.” He smiled apologetically and a contrite expression glimmered from his warm brown eyes. “I’m just the buyer’s agent.”

“Who’s the buyer?”

He nodded toward the back door behind the auctioneer. “Him.”

The dark and mysterious Jonas Shades.

Dizzy, she reached for her hat and gloves, knocking them to the floor. Bending down to retrieve them, her head cleared, returning the room to its original shape. She sat on the edge of the hard chair and closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up and find this had all been a terrible nightmare.

“Now we have item one hundred and fourteen.…” The auction resumed.

Pain ripped through her heart until it seemed as if blood dripped from her chest. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Light-headed, she wavered once as she rose.

She had to think. She couldn’t give up. She’d find the buyer and make him understand he couldn’t have the Aidan Heart. Searching the back of the room, she couldn’t find him. The man seemed to have disappeared. Shakily, she made her way to the entry hall and gripped the auction room’s doorjamb, drawing strength from its solid form.

“Is J.T. in?” A British-accented voice carried like a wave from farther down the corridor. Cathlynn caught a glimpse of the receding figure of a man bundled in a heavy black overcoat, gray scarf and felt bowler.

“Dr. Shades was not expecting you today.”

Dr. J. T. Shades!

Now she remembered where she’d heard the name Jonas Shades. He was the brilliant researcher who’d made waves last year when he’d denounced his sponsoring company’s intentions as fraudulent and ended their association.

What did he need the Aidan Heart for? What could he possibly want with her piece of glass? Her breaths quickened. Her free fist clenched by her side. She stowed the helplessness away in a deep corner, and let anger swell and crest, needing desperately to latch on to something other than the pain mauling her heart.

If Jonas Shades thought she was going home empty-handed today, he had no idea who he was dealing with.

JONAS HAD EXPECTED Sterling Ryder to show up, just not this soon. He turned swiftly into the small room adjoining the living room, plucked the registration card for bidder 168 from the Secretary’s desk and strode through to the door at the opposite end.

The rumors, of course. Alana had threatened to leak the less than idyllic state of their marriage to knowing ears, but she’d been drunk when he’d found her sprawled with the papers—drunk and vindictive. She’d vowed he’d suffer for the isolation she’d been forced to endure. The deal she’d outlined had shades of Satan all over it. He’d wanted to strangle her. In the end, he’d accepted. A little humiliation was nothing compared to the good his research could yield. Had she whispered her secrets out of spite to her cousin Geoffrey, realizing he’d have a keen interest in the outcome?

Jonas ripped open the door in his path.

“Jonas!” He nearly bumped into David Forester, his assistant, who carefully cradled the Aidan Heart in both his hands. “What do you want me to do with this?”

He handed David a key. “Put it in the cellar with the rest of the paperweights. In the safe.”

Without waiting for a response, Jonas forged ahead in the corridor, and let the door slam behind him. His butler and the old man weren’t far behind, but he’d reach the library before they did.

Ah, dear Alana! She’d kept at him and kept at him with her barbs and her threats—until he’d exploded.

Now she was missing. Had been for four and a half weeks. And it wasn’t like her to leave without a scene. Something wasn’t right, but the investigator he’d hired had uncovered nothing. It was as if she’d vanished.

Purposefully or not, she’d conveniently left him with a suspicious lawyer to appease and no devoted wife to prove his wedded bliss. He didn’t like being backed into a corner. And he surely didn’t like the thoughts poisoning his mind—thoughts he wouldn’t normally entertain. But images of the woman sitting at the auction floated back to him.

She could help him.

He turned a corner, feeling as if the walls of the home he loved so much were closing in on him, and pushed open the library door.

She’d had a glow about her that had caught his attention. He’d admired her catlike grace and the self-assurance with which she moved. His attraction to her had been immediate and powerful. A fact Jonas found both intriguing and disconcerting. History repeating itself? How long had it been since he’d allowed a pretty face to turn his head? And what price had he paid?

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Jonas blazed on a light and marched to the fireplace. He threw a log in and watched the sparks fly up like angry bees disturbed from their nest. He’d found her glowing face refreshing after the blasé cynicism he’d grown used to. Her light brown hair with its luxuriant profusion had him thinking of sex, hot and wild. The way the glossy strands caught the fire’s light and reflected gold, he’d wanted to reach out and bury his hand in her hair to harvest the sheer life it exuded. He shook his head to dispel her image. He had to stay in control.

He banged a fist against the mantel, punctuating his determination. But she came back, her image haunting him in the erratic dance of flames in a way he didn’t like.

Massaging the back of his neck with both hands, he saw her eyes again. They were the most beautiful he’d ever seen—brown that shifted to topaz, reminding him of his mother’s tiger’s-eye pendant. Yes, she vibrated with life, and he’d almost forgotten that feeling, dead as he’d been inside for so many years.

Jonas raked a hand through his hair to clear the sensual cobwebs weaving themselves into his brain, and headed for the silent butler by the sitting area. He plucked ice cubes from a bucket and dropped them into a glass.

When she’d turned and looked at him as she took her place at the auction, his whole body had tensed. At first he thought his impression had been a trick of the light, a quirk of his troubled mind, a ghost from his guilty conscience. But the similarities of her face to Alana’s grew over the differences, bringing with them a host of emotions he didn’t want to feel. Anger, betrayal—even hatred.

He poured whiskey over the ice and listened to the cubes crackle and pop.

Sterling’s arrival for the signing over of the trust had only compounded the feeling of powerlessness that had slowly enveloped him since Alana’s untimely disappearance. A feeling he’d felt only once before in his life and had sworn he’d never allow again.

He brought the glass to his lips, then slammed it down on the cart once more. Damn his blasted temper for getting him into this situation in the first place! He refused to lose a life’s worth of work over one ill-timed flash of anger.

As he slugged back a swallow, the pale amber liquid burned his throat. It rested in a fiery ball in his empty stomach, mixing with acid, bringing a caustic squall to life.

He’d watched the way the woman had sat up straight, then leaned forward with anticipation when the Aidan Heart had been raised to the block. The way she’d held her breath, waiting for the opening bid. The way she’d scanned the room, spotting each bidder and assessing them. They way the fear and hope had mixed, bringing her desire to the foreground. And when she’d turned desperate, an uncanny feeling of déjà vu had swept through him. That’s when the mad idea had formed in his mind and wouldn’t let go.

Sterling’s early arrival had served to imprint the idea further. The woman’s cry of outrage as David had placed the winning bid repeated in the chambers of his mind like a ghost’s tormented lament. He didn’t like resorting to a ruse, but he’d make it worth her while.

His future, his life, and those of his siblings, depended on it.

He picked up the bidder’s registration card and studied it. Cathlynn O’Connell. An antiques dealer from Nashua. For now, he’d let her cool her heels. Then they’d talk. If he’d read her right, the bait he’d dangle would be irresistible to this tiger hiding in a sleek cat’s skin.

They’d both get what they wanted.

The idea was so crazy, it might actually work.

CATHLYNN TOOK a few minutes to compose herself, but the raw fury refused to be tamed. She tromped down the hall where she’d heard the voices floating. The farther down she went, the darker and colder the atmosphere got. Soundless shapes reached out for her, then retracted into their dark crevices along the walls and ceilings. Tall candles protected by brass-trimmed sconces hung unlit, question marks along her path. Didn’t Jonas Shades believe in electricity? Maybe his cash-flow problems were as bad as the old lady had insinuated. That would serve him right, after he’d stolen her treasure from under her. Cathlynn snorted silently. He’d snuck away before she could face him with a counteroffer. Now she’d get her chance to face him, and he’d bear the full brunt of her disappointment.

Trailing her hand along the cold stone wall, she moved cautiously on the faded red runner. The stones seemed to come alive beneath her fingers, undulating mute portents into the marrow of her bones.

Beware. The warning pulsed directly into her brain. Her head snapped back to see who stood behind her. Nothing but the entry’s heatless light met her gaze.

Shaking her head to dismiss the creeps crawling over her skin, she followed the sound of muffled voices. She turned back every now and then to make sure she wasn’t being followed, unable to quite shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She passed several more arched wooden doors with black iron hardware and tested the latches. Why were all the doors locked? What dark secrets lay behind the cloistered portals? What skeletons?

The voices got closer. Through the half-opened library door, she spotted Jonas Shades. The arrogant snob chatted pleasantly with his guest as if nothing had happened—as if he hadn’t pulled the rug out from anybody. Cathlynn regained her sense of purpose. Her anger billowed to new heights, and she reacted before thinking.

“How could you?” She cried. “How could you make such an outrageous bid?”

Two men turned toward her with startled expressions on their faces. Jonas recovered from his surprise quickly and stepped toward her.

“Alana, darling, no need for such a fuss.” The rich, deep timbre of his voice floated pleasantly to her, but his smile was near-glacial when he drew her close and kissed her forehead with a featherlike brush of lips.

“Play along,” he whispered.

“What?” Cathlynn tried to pull away, but his hand captured one of hers, and his narrow glare warned her not to defy him. What had her mad impulse propelled her into?

“We can talk about whatever’s troubling you later, darling. Why do you think I bought back the Aidan Heart? For you, my sweet.”

“What are you talking about? How could you? You, you—” As waves of conflicting feelings battered her, the insult stuck in her throat.

“Because you mean the world to me, darling.” His smile held not a trace of warmth and his expression gave her the feeling the words left a rancid taste in his mouth.

Before she had a chance to respond, he turned her toward the distinguished-looking gentleman with the gray hair and neatly trimmed mustache, his palm wide and hot against the small of her back. “Do you remember Sterling Ryder, your father’s lawyer?” Her mouth opened to speak, but he plowed ahead. “No? Well, thirteen years can change a man, can’t they? He’s come from London in time to celebrate your birthday in two weeks.”

“Are you crazy?” What sort of game was Jonas Shades playing? Calling her by a name not hers, and pretending it was normal, the man had to have a screw loose somewhere. Holding the Aidan Heart as ransom for her cooperation, how low would the man go to get what he wanted?

“Darling—”

“What do you—”

“Not now, darling.” His gaze steeled and clouded dangerously. “Say hello to Sterling.”

As he waited for her reply, his fingers tightened with admonition around her waist, making Cathlynn wonder what might happen if she didn’t elect to play along with whatever perverted little game he was playing. Trying to loosen his controlling hold on her, and drown the speck of fear floating to her mind, Cathlynn pasted on a smile and offered Sterling her hand.

She’d play for now. For the Aidan Heart. Then Dr. Jonas Shades would see he wasn’t the only one who could bluster like a blizzard.

“Nice to meet you again,” Cathlynn managed to say, covering her stunned dismay. Who was Alana anyway? And why would Jonas pretend she was her? “How nice of you to come all the way to Ste-Croix for my birthday.”

“Well, this is an important one and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Sterling released her hand and eyed her curiously. “Besides, it will be my last official duty before I retire. I’m rather looking forward to it.”

The last official duty or the retirement? Cathlynn couldn’t help the sarcastic streak turning her thoughts sour. Well, enough of this. Satisfied at having played her part in Jonas’s charade, she smiled at him.

“You could have told me you’d let me have the Heart. It would have saved both of us a lot of trouble, sweetheart.” She gushed the endearment, secretly pleased at his camouflaged discomfort. “Can I go pick it up now?”

“Why don’t you wait a minute? Sterling was just about to go and freshen up. There’s something I need to discuss with you. About the Christmas fete.”

I’ll bet! Ooooh, would he have some answering to do! “All right, sweetheart, but I don’t have much time and a lot of details to see to.”

Cathlynn perched herself on a Louis XIV chair next to Sterling and waited while Jonas rang the intercom by the door. A worn Oriental carpet delineated a cozy sitting area, brightened by a fire glowing in the stone hearth. Three of the four walls held ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, with some of the tomes looking quite ancient. Idly, Cathlynn wondered which of the books she’d have to pull to disclose the hidden access to the dank and musty passageways which surely crisscrossed the bowels of this ugly monstrosity. The fourth wall showcased the fireplace, as well as two tall windows topped with heavy crimson velvet curtains that gleamed like wet blood in the flickering firelight. A garish medieval tapestry decorated the chimney above the stone mantel.

Sterling’s gaze brought her attention back to Jonas’s guest. Curiosity glinted openly in his pale blue eyes. An uneasy feeling quivered in her stomach under his scrutiny, but Cathlynn put it down to having to choke her anger so fast.

“I must say, Alana, you look marvelous,” Sterling said. “The years have treated you well. Why, I remember telling Jonas at your wedding reception, you were a rose that would bloom more beautifully with each passing year. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

Wedding reception? Sterling thought she was Jonas’s missing wife! What had she gotten herself into?

“How kind of you,” was all she could think to say. She’d make Jonas pay for this.

“You have put on a few pounds, but it suits you. I always thought you were much too thin.”

Cathlynn bristled at Sterling’s misplaced mirth, and bit her tongue in order to keep her retort civil. The ten extra pounds she carried around were a source of aggravation. They clung to her no matter what she ate or how much she exercised. A failure in her docket of successes. She didn’t appreciate the reminder.

“You seem to have held up quite well, too,” she said. “Men your age tend to go to pot.”

Sterling beamed at the compliment, not realizing she hadn’t meant it that way. Jonas twitched uncomfortably in the background, and Cathlynn nearly gave away her pleasure at his discomfort by smiling. Let him suffer. He’d started this vile charade, not her. She didn’t even know the ground rules.

“Well, one does what one can. I take pride in exercising every day. Sherry, my dear?” Sterling stood up to freshen his glass.

“No, I don’t drink.”

As he poured from the crystal decanter on the mahogany silent butler, Sterling raised a questioning eyebrow.

Jonas stood with mechanical discomfort.

“The calories,” Jonas mumbled.

“Oh,” Sterling said, but his expression gave away his doubt.

“Tell me, Sterling, what’ll you do after you retire?” Cathlynn asked to twist the light away from an obvious faux pas.

Sterling sat down and leaned sideways, closing the gap between them. “I’m planning a grand history tour. I’ve always been fascinated by the stories behind the ghosts who haunt the castles of England. But with as many fingers as your father had in so many pies, there wasn’t time for much else except work.”

“You can get an early start on your retirement, then.” Cathlynn placed a conspiratory hand on Sterling’s arm, noting out of the corner of her eye Jonas’s sharp glare. The ice cubes he dropped into his glass clinked a strident warning. The expensive material of his shirt shifted and stirred fluidly with each movement, but couldn’t hide the caged tension beneath. She forged ahead anyway. “I’ve heard some people from the village say they’ve seen a woman haunting this place.”

“Really, how interesting!”

“A local legend about monks and a sacrificial virgin,” she said, repeating the rumor she’d heard earlier.

As he filled his glass with amber liquid, Jonas shot Cathlynn a look of silent condemnation. Had she gone too far? Some even say he killed her himself in one of his fits of rage.

“It’s only gossip,” Jonas said.

Just then the door yawned open and a uniformed butler with a beaked nose and thinning white hair came in.

“Valentin,” Jonas said with obvious relief. “Please show Mr. Ryder to his room.”

“Oui, monsieur.” The old butler bowed. “If you’ll follow me.”

Sterling picked up the briefcase by his feet and rose. “When can we go over the trust paperwork, Alana? I want to be sure you understand everything for the reversion and signing on your birthday.”

“Tomorrow will be soon enough,” Jonas interrupted. “Supper is served at seven. We’ll see you then.”

Sterling looked at Cathlynn and honored her with a smile that reminded her of a jackal’s glee. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She shivered despite herself and snatched her hand away as soon as she could. There was something about the man that inspired no confidence. How ridiculous, when this old man’s jovial good looks could be mistaken for a trim Santa Claus!

“And Valentin,” Jonas said as the butler reached to close the door, “please return when you’re done.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

The dark glower in Jonas’s eyes, the grim set of his jaw, the coiled sensuality of his movement when he turned toward her had Cathlynn wishing Valentin had left the door open for an easy escape. Not one to lie in wait, she decided to turn the tide in her favor.

“Well, Dr. Shades, care to explain what all that was about?”

“Funny, I was about to ask the same question. What kind of game did you think you were playing?”

“You started it, you go first.” Cathlynn sat back and crossed a leg over one knee, pretending a calmness she didn’t feel.

Jonas turned and walked to the massive English walnut desk nestled in the corner by two banks of bookshelves, giving him height, width and breadth. Did he feel it, too, the strange thickening of air in the room? Did he need the exterior props to shield himself from it? Or did the viscous atmosphere originate with him? He pivoted to face her and skewered her with a dark glare.

“I need a wife.”

“Pardon me?” As her foot slapped the floor, Cathlynn was sure her mouth hung open with disbelief. She leaned forward. Did he expect her to marry him, or just play the part?

“I need a wife,” he said as if it were a perfectly normal thing to say. Chilling apprehension snaked coldly through her. The man was insane!

With his chin cradled over a fist, he cocked his head and looked her up and down. His slow appraising look made Cathlynn feel like one of the antiques he’d put up for auction this afternoon. “Your coloring and height are about right, and you seem to have fooled Sterling.”

“Fooled Sterling about what?” Then it hit her. “You think I look like your wife?”

“Sterling thinks so, and that’s what’s important.”

Cathlynn rose from her chair, sliding her gloves on. “I didn’t come here to discuss my looks, to fool anyone, or to get engaged. I want the Aidan Heart, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Thirteen years is a long time and the changes are plausible,” Jonas continued as if he hadn’t heard her. His gaze lingered disquietingly on the curves of her body. “Alana was raised in Boston, so even your accent works.”

“Thank you for your unadulterated show of approval. Now, about the Aidan Heart—”

“How much is two weeks of your life worth to you?” he snapped sharply, like a man who’d made a decision and didn’t intend to have it contradicted.

“Excuse me?” Again, Jonas’s unmitigated gall caught her off guard. My God, he meant it. She saw it on his face, the uncompromising look of a man used to getting his way.

“Two weeks, how much is that worth to you?”

Cathlynn sank to the chair and sat primly on the unyielding surface, elbows on the armrests. She held her chin high and looked him straight in the eye. “More than you can afford.”

The fluid unfurling of tensed muscles as he rounded the desk and came toward her had her blood tripping through her veins at high speed. What fuse had she lit now?

Cathlynn had the compelling urge to jump up and run, but held her ground. She’d show him she was just as strong as he was.

He leaned down, placing his hands on her chair’s armrest, his fingers brushing her arms accidentally, striking her like hot lightning. He trapped her there with his aura of power and physical might. The heat of his breath caressed her cheek, turning a wave of trepidation in her stomach. His woodsy scent caused a ripple of turbulence along her skin. The cyclone in his storm-darkened eyes pierced her soul and whirled a myriad of sensations, chief among them an acute feeling of danger.

“Play my wife until the Christmas fete, until Alana’s birthday,” he said in a deep low voice that vibrated through her like an approaching storm’s warning thunder. “And I’ll give you the Aidan Heart.”