She shuddered, remembering how she had believed herself in love with him when she was a teenager. With the Australian Embassy located next door to Eduard’s home in Perla, their paths often crossed socially. In the eighteen months she had lived in Carramer, they had become friends.
On Eduard’s part, that’s all it was, she understood now. Perhaps her lack of family and roots, and her father’s emotional distance, had made her susceptible to reading too much into the relationship, but she had believed that Eduard had shared her feelings.
Knowing he would soon be leaving for university, she had kissed him with all the passion in her soul. He had stood like a statue, his mouth cold against hers and his body stonily unresponsive. When she’d stammered out her feelings, he had dismissed them with unfeeling arrogance. She had wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. The stiff apology he made before he left had only made her feel more stupid and naive.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks, which burned as hotly as her memories. When he’d swept her into his arms yesterday, he must have been aware of her instinctive response. Was she destined always to make a fool of herself around him?
Her only consolation was that Eduard didn’t seem to remember that teenage kiss. He had been the one to kiss her yesterday. She touched her fingers to her mouth, as if she could still feel the pressure of his lips against hers. He was no man of stone now. No statue could generate the heat inside her that his touch had done. She felt a resurgence of it now, just thinking about him.
Annoyed with herself, she drowned the feelings under a cool shower then dressed in a white shirt and olive cargo pants. Leaving her feet bare, she went to the kitchen to make toast, which was about all the breakfast she could face at present. From the plate and cup on the drainer, she saw that Eduard had already beaten her to it.
Later she tracked him down to the study she had looked forward to using as her own. She felt cheated at seeing him looking so at home behind what she’d thought of as her desk. Nor did she welcome the quick flutter in her stomach at the sight of him.
She placed the worthless sale contract on the desk in front of him. “I should have known this deal was too good to be true.”
Eduard leafed through the papers, stopping to read a clause now and then. When he looked up, he said, “These are good, very good. But the royal family only uses one intermediary and it isn’t…” he glanced at the name of the selling agent “… Dominic Hass. Where did you meet this man?”
She sighed. “I was staying at the Monarch Hotel in Tricot. He must have overheard me talking on my cell phone to my brother. I told Jeff that I was going to look at a property for sale out this way. After I hung up, Hass came up and asked my advice about where to take his mother sight-seeing. His mother! I must have sucker written on my forehead.”
Eduard tilted the swivel chair backward, resting his fingertips on the desk for balance. “Don’t blame yourself. People like Hass can be very convincing.”
“He struck up a conversation. When I told him I planned to open a bed-and-breakfast place in the area, he told me he was the agent for a property that might interest me.” She looked around her. “I should have smelled a rat when he didn’t have a key. The lock was broken, probably by him. He said the keys had been lost.”
This elicited a frown from Eduard. “That explains how he managed to gain entry. The lodge has never been up for sale.”
She couldn’t conceal her bitterness. “I know that now. Hass looked well-dressed and trustworthy.” She might have been describing Mark, she thought with sudden insight. Or Eduard himself. She would definitely have to be more wary of good-looking men.
Eduard leaned across the desk. “How did he convince you of his credentials? I’m not rubbing it in, but the more you can recall about him, the greater the chance of the police catching him.”
“He showed me glowing references from some of the people I remember from my father’s time here, including you.” She fished in her pocket and pulled out a business card. Hass’s name mocked her from the glossy surface as she handed it to Eduard.
He studied the card thoughtfully. “The details are probably as phony as his references. Did he have an accent?”
“Vaguely British, I think, but difficult to pin down.”
“He probably travels around the region, looking for new victims and staying a step ahead of local law. The local authorities may already have a file on him. He probably targeted you, as a foreigner, because…”
“Because I don’t know any better than to buy up chunks of Carramer’s national estate.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not going to see my money back, am I?”
“Probably not.”
She sank onto a chair in front of the desk. With most of her nest egg gone, she couldn’t afford to remain in Carramer for long. Her brother would give her a home until the baby was born, but the thought of confessing her present plight to him didn’t appeal at all.
“Still feeling unwell?” Eduard asked, watching her.
She lifted her head. “A little.”
“You do look washed-out.”
“Kind of you to say so.” She let her ironic tone thank him for his encouragement.
His aristocratic eyebrows lifted. “I wasn’t criticizing, merely stating a fact.”
“Sometimes ‘facts’ can be damaging, whether you mean them to or not.”
“Would you prefer me to lie to you?”
“I’d rather this whole mess hadn’t happened.” To her horror, she felt tears pool in her eyes. She blinked hard, but two droplets escaped down her cheeks.
Although she dashed them away furiously, Eduard noticed. He stood up, looking distressed. “Cris, please don’t.”
He had never been comfortable with emotions, she reminded herself, determined not to burden him with hers any longer. She got up. “I’ll start packing right away.”
Eduard stayed her with a sharp command. “Don’t go, not like this. I’d like to help if I can.”
Remembering how he had trampled on her feelings once before, she shook her head. “I got myself into this and I’ll get myself out again. I don’t need charity.”
“I’m not offering any, but I have an idea that may help.” He paused, then said, “Haven’t you wondered why I have the title of marquis, theoretically outranking my older brother?”
Her confusion increased. “I assumed it’s a Carramer tradition.” But she sat down again.
Eduard laced his fingers together on the desk. “In a way, it is. The Merrisand title traditionally passes down my mother’s line to the youngest child. One of her ancestors, also a youngest child, managed to offend a past ruler of Carramer and was given the title as an insult.”
What did this have to do with her? Still, she couldn’t resist asking, “Why was it an insult?”
“In Carramer mythology, Merrisand is a place that doesn’t exist except in imagination,
