with was that the Illyrian woman had believed an upstart nobody to be completely unsuitable for her lord’s wife.
She was probably right.
The flames in the fireplace sprang high, then collapsed, and a faint, familiar scent reminded Sara of apples. Prunings from the orchards she’d seen beneath the helicopter, she thought, clinging to that simple sweetness in a room filled with fear and tension.
Oppressed by the weight of centuries of history, of death and war and disillusionment within the walls of the castle, she said flatly, ‘I’m sorry it was stolen, but I had nothing to do with it.’
Gabe drank some wine, then put his glass down with a sharp movement that set the golden liquid surging in the flute. ‘I don’t believe Marya took it because she was the one who hid the necklace when my grandparents abandoned the castle.’
Astonished, she stared at him. She knew the story. The general of the revolutionary army—a man whose violence had been legendary—had threatened to kill every person in the valley if the castle was defended. Gabe’s grandparents had slipped away in the night and joined the partisans, fighting in the mountains until they eventually died in an ambush.
In a thin voice she said, ‘Is that why you wanted her to be my maid?’
‘Partly. She asked if she could be when she heard that we were engaged. I suggested it to you because she was my grandmother’s maid, and I suppose it satisfied something in me to have her take care of you and your clothes.’
Sara bit her lip.
‘Yes,’ he said sardonically, answering her unspoken response. ‘You chose the wrong person to frame, Sara. Marya would never have stolen the necklace because she spent forty years protecting it at huge personal cost to herself and her family. She endured everything because she was loyal and because she understands the necklace’s enormous symbolic value.’
‘Is that why you’re so determined to find it?’ At least she could now understand why Gabe was so sure of Marya’s innocence. Not that it helped. ‘Does it confer some sort of divine right to rule on whoever holds it?’
‘No,’ Gabe said deliberately, surveying her with hooded, scornful eyes. ‘I’m trying to explain why I know Marya didn’t steal it. Whereas you lied to me and betrayed me. Give me one reason why I should believe you.’
Humiliation leached the colour from her skin. She stumbled over her next words, then caught her breath and forced herself to repeat stubbornly, ‘I didn’t lie or betray you.’
‘All I want is the Queen’s Blood,’ Gabe responded indifferently, making it more than obvious he didn’t believe her.
So what else was new?
He went on, ‘It’s an heirloom of my house, and I want it back again. Then you’ll be free to go.’
The beautiful, fabulous object, rich with history and tragedy and glamour, had shattered her heart. Gabe valued it more than he’d valued her, and his so-called love hadn’t withstood the suspicion that had swirled around her after the necklace had disappeared.
Sara dragged in a slow, jagged breath. ‘I wish you had it,’ she said, pain thinning her voice, ‘but I don’t know what happened to it and I can’t tell you where it is. I’m sorry.’
‘Won’t tell me.’ His voice was controlled and impersonal, as though he was discussing a business deal. ‘I’m prepared to pay you the value of the Queen’s Blood for information about its whereabouts.’ He named an amount that horrified her.
Sara closed her eyes. Just how far would he take this? ‘I don’t know where it is,’ she repeated dully.
‘The offer stands. It’s considerably more than you’ll get from breaking up the necklace and selling the stones on the black market. And much more than you’ll get from a collector who knows you don’t dare offer it legally.’ He picked up his glass and drank some of the champagne, his long fingers tanned and strong against the delicate transparency of the crystal stem.
They’d always been exquisitely gentle on her body. Sara turned away as memories exploded in intimate, painfully acute clarity. She tried to wall them off, but her skin tightened at the recollection of the heat of his sleek, bronzed hide against hers, the power and the rapture of impassioned hours locked in his arms, and the transcendent ecstasy of his possession.
A subtle, hidden softening deep inside her shocked her into awareness of her danger. Bitterly she forced the seductive images to the back of her mind. Oh, he’d been a magnificent lover, but he’d instantly believed that she’d stolen the necklace.
Now she understood why, but his reasons simply underlined the fragility of their relationship. For all its fire and flash and transient ecstasy, love had opened her to an anguish that would scar her for life.
‘I can’t help you. I’ll leave now,’ she said quietly, clutching at a composure so brittle she was afraid it would splinter at his next insulting word.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’ His reasonable tone warred with the determination she saw in his handsome face.
Tension knotted inside her. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth when she said, ‘You can’t keep me here, and you know it.’
‘You’ll stay here until I find out what you’ve done with the necklace,’ he told her with uncompromising decision. His implacable eyes kindled, and she realised with a cold clenching of her heart that he meant it.
Dry-mouthed, she protested, ‘That’s kidnapping.’
‘You can go as soon as the necklace is in my hands.’
She cast him a glance of mingled shock and distrust. ‘I don’t imagine your cousin would be happy to learn that you’re holding me prisoner.’
His expression darkened, but he said coolly, ‘I’ll worry about Alex if and when I have to.’
‘You’re being completely crazy!’ She tried to infuse her voice with crisp scorn. ‘And I’m not going to put up with it. Your ancestors might have been able to shut up anyone who offended them in the dungeons, but this is a different world.’
Back held so stiffly she thought she could feel her spine cracking, she swung on her heel and set off for the door. She’d only taken two steps when he stopped her with a hand on her upper arm, one smooth, decisive movement swinging her around to face him.
Every treacherous sense quivered at the faint, intensely masculine scent that was solely his, an evocative sexual promise that set her heart racing. Her stomach clenched as she shivered at the electricity that poured through her, destroying defences she’d been so sure would never be breached again.
In a cracked voice she muttered, ‘Gabe, be sensible! You can’t do this!’
‘Who’s going to stop me? You?’ His smile was a masterpiece of cold irony.
Before she could formulate an answer he bent his head and kissed her, his mouth demanding the response she dared not give. But although she could keep her lips clamped tightly together, she couldn’t control the spontaneous, involuntary betrayal of her body.
Of course he understood each sensual signal. He knew her
