Blackmailed Bride

Blackmailed Bride Sylvie Kurtz Dr. Jonas Shades needed someone to play his wife in order to secure the funds required for his critical research. Cathlynn O'Connell was the perfect candidate. Except with time running out, he had no choice but to blackmail his bride….Each day spent in Jonas's fortress of a home brought Cathlynn one step deeper into the dangerous mystery surrounding his life. And each minute spent in his brooding presence, each second spent in his passionate embrace brought her one step closer to losing control. Her life was on the line, but what Cathlynn really feared was losing her heart…to the husband she hardly knew. He wanted her He needed her. He couldn’t have her. Not now. Not ever. A faint whimper escaped her in her sleep. Cathlynn’s eyelids fluttered with the mad movements of a dreamer dreaming. Dark shadows of distress slipped across her innocent face. Fear spread her breaths raggedly through her parted lips. Fear. Yes, she had a right to fear him, Jonas thought, watching her sleep. He’d do her no good. Having Cathlynn pretend to be his wife so he could acquire the trust fund was the most important thing in his life now. He needed the money to continue his work, to save his life and his brother’s. He would sacrifice anything to find the cure. His dreams were grounded in reality, in his vision for a brighter future for all, not in fantasy. He had to remember that. In two weeks, Cathlynn would be gone, and everything could go back as it was. Anger rose. A disturbing anger that shook him to the core. Damn Cathlynn and her irresistible appeal! Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader, Sunscreen, a poolside lounge—and Harlequin Intrigue: the perfect recipe for great summer escapes! This month’s sizzling selection begins with The Stranger Next Door (#573) by Joanna Wayne, the second in her RANDOLPH FAMILY TIES miniseries. Langley Randolph is the kind of Texan who can’t resist a woman in trouble. Can he help unlock a beautiful stranger’s memories…before a killer catches up with her first? Little Penny Drake is an Innocent Witness (#574) to a murder in this suspenseful yet tender story by Leona Karr. The child’s desperate mother, Deanna, seeks the help of Dr. Steve Sherman. Can Steve unlock her daughter’s secrets…and Deanna’s heart? Dr. Jonas Shades needs a woman to play his wife. Cathlynn O’Connell is the perfect candidate, but with time running out, he has no choice but to blackmail his bride. Each minute in Jonas’s presence brings Cathlynn closer to understanding her enigmatic “husband” and closer to danger! Don’t miss Blackmailed Bride (#575) by Sylvie Kurtz. Bestselling Harlequin American Romance author Tina Leonard joins Harlequin Intrigue with a story of spine-tingling suspense and dramatic romance. She’s created the small town of Crookseye Canyon, Texas, as the backdrop for A Man of Honor (#576). Cord Greer must marry his brother’s woman to keep her and her unborn baby safe. But is it fear that drives Tessa Draper into Cord’s arms, or is it something more than Cord had hoped for? Indulge yourself and find out this summer—and all year long! Sincerely, Denise O’Sullivan Associate Senior Editor Harlequin Intrigue Blackmailed Bride Sylvie Kurtz www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) ABOUT THE AUTHOR Flying an eight-hour solo cross-country in a Piper Arrow with only the airplane’s crackling radio and a large bag of M&M’s for company, Sylvie Kurtz realized a pilot’s life wasn’t for her. The stories zooming in and out of her mind proved more entertaining than the flight itself. Not a quitter, she finished her pilot’s course and earned her commercial license and instrument rating. Since then, she has traded in her wings for a computer keyboard, where she lets her imagination soar to create fictional adventures that explore the power of love and the thrill of suspense. When not writing, she enjoys the outdoors with her husband and two children, in addition to quilt making, photography and reading whatever catches her interest. You can write to Sylvie at P.O. Box 702, Milford, NH 03055. Books by Sylvie Kurtz HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE 527—ONE TEXAS NIGHT 575—BLACKMAILED BRIDE CAST OF CHARACTERS Dr. Jonas Shades—With time running out, he had to convince a beautiful stranger to play his wife for two weeks. Yet how far would his “marriage” go once she was by his side…? Cathlynn O’Connell—She was playing the role of a lifetime. What price was she willing to pay to get what she wanted? Alana Chandler Shades—The faithless socialite was missing. Was it by choice? Or was it murder? Sterling Ryder—Did the family lawyer and trust fund’s trustee have a motive of his own to see Alana dead? Geoffrey Chandler—Alana’s cousin. Greed was always a good motive for murder. David Forester—Jonas’s trusted assistant knew everything that went on between the thick monastery walls. Meara O’Connell—Would Cathlynn’s grandmother appreciate the sacrifice her granddaughter made for her sake? Lorraine Forester—The local seamstress was happy to oblige Jonas’s every request. Bertha Lane—There was no love lost between David’s grandmother and the mistress of the monastery. Scott MacPhearson—The private eye was a bulldog when it came to tracking down a clue. Jonas had paid his salary, but no man could buy the truth from him. To my grandmothers—for the fond memories. Contents Prologue (#uc79c325e-f27e-5f6e-8faf-65e36e469120) Chapter One (#uc917cb4a-8409-5f8c-bd2f-06d49e0106ba) Chapter Two (#ud5df6f5a-89e4-59dd-9124-b19ec4be3e8b) Chapter Three (#u4d60a46e-4762-5779-972e-f451e61749de) Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue A paper-thin moon hung in the ink-blue sky, mutating grotesque shadows behind the three crosses in the courtyard of the Ste-Croix monastery in rural New Hampshire. But Alana Chandler Shades didn’t care. The creepy place with its eerie shadows and haunting chantlike winds had ceased to frighten her a long time ago. Now, it merely bored her. At thirty, she’d wasted almost half her life in this godforsaken place. As she hurried over the courtyard’s cobblestones, she smiled, ignoring the ominous whispers of fall leaves from the nearby woods. Soon she’d be free. She threw her head back and laughed, defying the morbid sounds of night. She’d waited a long time for this freedom—a freedom she’d earned with her filial duty; a freedom which would now be greatly enhanced by her coming inheritance. She’d have plenty of time to make up for all the deprivation she’d endured over the last thirteen years. As she opened the garage door, it creaked. For now, she’d settle for the simple pleasures of the flesh. Her latest conquest was strong and virile, and Alana licked her lips in anticipation of the feral passion they’d share. She hopped into her red Miata and roared into the bleak night. Too bad that husband of hers had found the papers and ruined his Christmas surprise. He’d been amiable enough about the whole situation, with her conditions. But with him, who knew? Their love had died a long time ago, hadn’t it? Had they ever truly been in love? She’d been too young. Her dreams hadn’t had a chance to gel yet. She’d realized too late the price she’d paid for her father’s approval. And he’d made sure with his manipulations of her trust fund that she couldn’t undo the damage until too late. All this sacrifice and for what? A miracle cure that would never happen; a marriage that was doomed to fail before it began. And the differences in their backgrounds, the five-year difference in their ages so exciting at first, had soon grown into rifts, then chasms. The fool, he’d turned such a brilliant future into nothing with his misguided vision and his righteous anger. An anger that had grown over the years, and sometimes managed to frighten even her. But not tonight. Tonight was her weekly escape from tyranny, and she was determined to make the most of it. The car rattled over the loose boards of the old covered bridge, echoing like thunder into the oppressive night. Alana hid the Miata in the thicket of pines and slipped into the small one-room cottage. She sensed movement from the bed. “You’re here already. Why didn’t you light the lamp?” She lit the hurricane lamp, blew out the match and turned to her new friend. A black-robed monk stepped forward from the shadows, his face hidden by his cowled hood, his hands buried in opposite sleeves. She smiled when she saw the way the robe strained over broad shoulders, the way the thick cord at his waist defined his trim hips. “Ah, so you like to play little games, do you?” Alana laughed. She unbuttoned her coat and flung it on the bed. She started toward him, shedding her scarf, then her sweater. “Shall I play your sacrificial virgin?” The monk’s hood fell back. Malevolence burned in his eyes. Laughter froze in her throat. Her fingers went rigid against the zipper of her tailored pants. His hands came into the light. A rope snapped between them. Fear paralyzed her limbs, her voice, her breath. The rush of adrenaline came too late. Chapter One 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 blas? 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 d?j? 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.” Chapter Two “I won’t do it.” Cathlynn ducked under Jonas’s caging arms, and moved toward the door—away from his magnetic aura, from his enchanting scent, from his piercing gaze, which both frightened and exhilarated her at the same time. “Not even for the Aidan Heart?” She hesitated, her hand hovering above the doorknob. “You can’t buy me.” “Yours free and clear in exchange for two weeks of your time. It seems a fair deal for something you want so desperately.” Damn, he’d pinned her into a neat little corner, hadn’t he? She’d spent most of her adult life looking for the darned thing, and most of her childhood dreaming about it. Now, to get the Aidan Heart, and see her grandmother’s eyes shine once more, she’d have to compromise her standards. She’d have to live a lie when she was known for her honesty. She turned to face him. How far would he go? “No. I’m sorry, I don’t have two weeks to spare. I have a business to attend to, a grandmother who needs me.” “I’ll make it worth your while,” Jonas said after a short silence. Not even a hint of remorse crisped his stern features. He moved to his desk and riffled through the mess of papers on it. “I already told you. I’m not for sale. From what I hear, you’re not in a position to make such a generous offer.” “Idle village gossip. I hadn’t thought you the gullible sort.” He opened a drawer, the solid flex of his muscles beneath the shirt uninterrupted by her barb. He searched the drawer’s contents, slammed it shut, then started on the next. “Everyone has a price.” “You don’t even know who I am.” Arms crossed over her chest, Cathlynn waited for his next move, icy expectation standing between them. He stopped suddenly. His shadow loomed long and spectral on the wall behind him. “Your name is Cathlynn O’Connell and you’re an antiques dealer from Nashua.” His smile caught her off guard. It lit up his face in a most attractive way, and she almost forgot her anger. “How did you know?” She turned away from the desk, eclipsing his smile from her sight. He picked up an index card and let it float back to his desk. “Your registration card for the auction.” He resumed his search and came up with an antique silver frame, then handed it to her, his fingers hesitating for a moment against hers. She took the frame more to break the unnerving contact than anything else, but a warm shiver still managed to snake through her. Even as she focused on the picture, she couldn’t stop the heated hum where skin had touched skin. The photograph showed the face of a happy bride. The hair color, framed in white lace, was different than hers, she noted—darker, richer. The eyes also appeared darker, but the picture’s colors had mutated with time. The facial features were similar enough that Sterling might put down to maturity the differences in their looks. Yes, the young girl in the picture might have grown into something like her. A shiver crawled along her scalp and slid down her spine. “Uncanny, isn’t it?” Jonas’s voice startled her from her reverie. “Yes.” Cathlynn placed the picture on the desk and retreated to the fireplace. She needed warmth to thaw the cold ice clogging her veins. “Think of this as a vacation.” “I haven’t said I’ll take your offer.” She rubbed her hands and offered her palms to the heat emanating from the weaving flames. “I saw the way you looked at that piece of glass.” Jonas came to stand behind her. His presence pulsated along her skin, raising the hairs along her arms in static protest. “I saw how fervently you tried to hide your desire while you bid.” His breath caressed her hair like a Chinook wind. “You want the Aidan Heart more than you want anything else in the world.” His voice wooed her like a gentle spring breeze. “What’s a few weeks of your life for something you want so much?” His fingers reached for her shoulders and the possessive weight of his palms felt as if it burned a hole through her coat. “Cathlynn…” Her name sang into her soul and echoed in her mind. He’d said it so gently, she could almost believe this dark man had a heart. And God help her, she couldn’t leave without the Aidan Heart. What were a few weeks when she’d searched for her ancestor’s sculpture for most of her life? A log in the fireplace broke in half and crashed on the hot bed of coals, sending up a shower of sparks. “Why do you need me to pretend I’m Alana?” Cathlynn asked, trying to figure out exactly what she’d get herself into if she accepted. Her throat felt dry, her palms sweaty. “How do you expect to fool Sterling? What if he sees a more recent picture of her?” “That won’t be a problem.” Jonas slipped his hands from her shoulders, and Cathlynn found herself inexplicably bereft. “Won’t he find it suspicious that there are no pictures lying about?” Jonas returned to his desk. “Alana hated to have her picture taken. She didn’t realize this picture existed. It’s the only one I have of her. You’ll do it then? You’ll play Alana?” “I haven’t said so. I still don’t know exactly what you expect from me. What if Sterling wants to talk about Alana’s family, her past?” “I’ll coach you on the basics. You’ll do your best to avoid him most of the time.” Jonas sat down in the big leather chair behind his desk. “Basically, you need to be seen but not heard until Sterling leaves after Alana’s birthday.” “Why?” “Because there’s a lot at stake.” Guarded tension stretched his features taut. Secrets, dark and dangerous, oozed from his every pore, igniting her curiosity and firing urgent warnings along her strained nerves like the dots and dashes of Morse code. “Like what?” Cathlynn dragged a chair by his desk and sat down. Even if the village gossip proved true, he needed her alive, she had nothing to fear from him. “Like a trust fund worth millions that reverts to her in a few weeks’ time on her 30th birthday.” Greed, always a good motive for murder. Why hadn’t anyone else thought of it? But then, only the gossip of old ladies had Alana dead. To the rest of the logical world she was merely missing. And wouldn’t he wait until after the signing over of the trust to kill her? “As her husband, won’t you inherit?” Jonas picked up a pencil from his desk and tapped it on his other hand in an annoying nervous rhythm. His eyes hardened, putting more distance between them. “With Alana missing, there will be delays and I need my promised share now to continue my work. I’m close to a breakthrough. She couldn’t have picked a worse time to…leave.” “That sounds awfully cold.” The pencil stilled; the eyes didn’t. They seemed to bore deeper and deeper, past the cracks in her mask, to her soft inner core, and anchor. What was he looking for? What did he want from her? Jonas’s unwavering scrutiny narrowed the room, making her edgy and stifling her breath low in her lungs. She smoothed the skirt of her dress to remind herself she was indeed fully clothed. “There are mitigating circumstances,” Jonas said. “Such as?” The corded tendons along his jaw drew tight, relaxed, then tightened again, but he didn’t say anything. “What if she comes back?” Jonas dropped the pencil and stood up abruptly. He walked to the window, but Cathlynn could have sworn he didn’t see the mad dance of snowflakes falling past the windowpane. The iron-stiff set of his face frightened her with its severity. Something ate at him. Guilt? What had happened between him and Alana to cause such unbending grimness? His skin had paled, making him appear even more formidable. “What if she comes back?” Cathlynn found the courage to ask again, not sure she really wanted an answer. Her mind had already worked overtime on sinister conclusions. “I doubt she will.” His voice grated with something close to hatred. His jaw tensed, raising tiny knots along the muscle. He didn’t amplify. Or was the harshness due to his loss? Could she be mistaken? Had he loved Alana, and were the ominous feelings snaking through her just a product of her fertile imagination fueled by the house’s ghoulish grimness? Cathlynn digested the information he’d given her while a dozen questions popped into her mind. If he loved Alana, why had she left? Why wouldn’t she be back? Was it because of Jonas, or something else? Something permanent…like death. Some even say he killed her himself… “What about the people in the village, won’t they know the difference?” Cathlynn asked, trying to sway her thoughts away from their direful direction. “Alana rarely ventured there, and there’s no need for you to leave the monastery. All your needs will be taken care of. Only Valentin, my butler, and David Forester, my assistant, will need to know the truth, and they’ve both proven their trust.” Trying to slow down her mind and make sense of the bits of information he fed her, she focused on the tapestry over the fireplace. A medieval battle took place. Knights in shining armor on trusty steeds fought for the Holy Grail, killing for their perception of Truth and Right. Well, that didn’t help at all. The bloody carnage darkened her already dismal thoughts. There were always two sides to everything, weren’t there? Perceptions changed truth. Didn’t all the wars in the name of God prove that? Would she really be compromising her honesty by accepting the role in exchange for her heart’s desire? And there was Gram’s to think of. A week, a month. The doctors weren’t sure how long she had left; they could only say that her time was near. Would two weeks be too long? Cathlynn studied the room, looking for an answer to her dilemma among the sullen whispers of the past swirling about the room. The stones seemed to pulse again with unseen life. Beware. The whisper into her brain chilled her to the bone. She looked around the room, but saw nothing out of place. She shook her head, and put the perceived thought to a figment of her overtired mind. Oh, Gram, what am I getting myself into? Could she live for two weeks in the coldness of this grim stone house, among the austere monks’ ghosts and the cloak of sadness permeating the walls? “Can’t you get your funding elsewhere?” Cathlynn asked, trying to fill the heavy silence while she thought her alternatives through. “My options are…limited. The income from the monastery’s various holdings isn’t enough to support the monastery, let alone my research.” “The Monastery Company. That’s you?” “Yes.” “Why stay here then?” Cathlynn asked. “Why not sell this place?” He sat down, leaned his elbows on the chair’s armrests and tented his fingers. “You want the Aidan Heart, don’t you?” She nodded. “And there’s no logical reason for it, right?” “No.” He lifted his hands. “I love this place, and there’s no logical reason for it.” For an instant, his eyes showed the truth of his words and his face softened. Just as fast, the fleeting impression vanished, leaving Cathlynn to wonder if she’d simply imagined it. “As for my research,” he continued, “I do it for a very personal reason, and the trust would enable me to keep it—and the monastery—going without worry. I won’t be the only beneficiary of your kindness. A lot of people depend on me for their livelihoods, and maybe even their lives.” The reasoning seemed noble enough, yet Cathlynn sensed there remained much untold. Did she really want to know the truth? Shadowed fear fought with her soul’s deep yearning. “I can’t afford to take two weeks off work,” Cathlynn said, mirroring his seated stance. Years of dealing had taught her the fine art of negotiation. “I have to keep buying and selling merchandise.” But they had been lonely years. “I have to keep visible.” They hadn’t taught her to manage these strange gut feelings, or the way this man’s mere presence could short-circuit her usually ordered thinking. She fought now for her edge, for the safety of her professional mask, for the knowledge that his need matched her own in ferocity. How far would he go? “As much as I want the Aidan Heart, I do have to make a living. Then there’s the complication of my grandmother. She may not have two weeks to live.” His cold, gray gaze fixed on her. She didn’t flinch. The silence grew between them until Cathlynn thought she would suffocate from it. His pointed stare made her want to squirm, but instinct told her she couldn’t let her discomfort show. She kept very still outwardly, but inwardly everything buzzed. Staring back at him didn’t help, because she saw so much and yet so little in the vivid gray pools. Everything about him seemed so contradictory—sensuous lips and a hard demeanor; eyes that thawed and iced over with no rhyme or reason; a seemingly logical approach to everything and an illogical love for a place. Which was the real Jonas? The murderer of village gossip who’d killed his wife in a fit of rage, or the driven researcher looking for some mysterious cure? “Over the years, I’ve collected a fair amount of antique glass,” Jonas said finally, breaking his mesmerizing eye contact. Cathlynn swallowed her sigh of relief. “I’ve put off my collection’s appraisal for far too long. I’d like to hire you to do the job.” “I—” “I’ll pay you your going rate, and I’ll also give you free title to the Aidan Heart when you leave after the Christmas Fete.” Jonas Shades was no fool. He knew exactly which string to pull. Cathlynn was sorely tempted. She wanted the sculpture. She couldn’t leave without it. “I’ve worked hard for what I’ve earned,” Jonas added, leaning back in his chair. “I’d hate to see it go to my wife’s cousin, who hasn’t worked a day in his life and would squander it, when it could be put to good use. How much care does your grandmother need?” “She’s cared for physically. What she needs is my presence to tie her to reality.” “Would a visit every few days work?” If she accepted his offer, she’d have her treasure and money besides to increase her inventory of merchandise. Her work here would be legitimate, and the telephone would keep her in touch with Gram’s condition on a daily basis, and with the outside world should the need arise. Professionally speaking, she’d be a fool not to accept. What about personally? Could she trust this man? “Be assured, Miss O’Connell,” Jonas said. He had the air of a man who’d had enough of negotiations and now played his trump card. “As long as I’m alive, the Aidan Heart will never make its way onto the market. If you want it, make your decision. Now.” The deceptive silky smoothness of his voice rang with implicit power. She didn’t want to, but she yielded. She had no choice. Not if she wanted the Aidan Heart—for herself, for Gram. But she wouldn’t capitulate completely. She’d been her own woman far too long to submit meekly to anyone—especially someone who could buffet her like a rudderless ship in a storm. “All right, I accept, but I refuse to do anything illegal. I won’t call myself by your wife’s name. I won’t sign any documents. And if I find you’re using me to defraud Alana, I’ll report you to the authorities.” HE WATCHED the woman leave the library. She was a complication. But he was used to those. Jonas had never made anything easy for him, had taken so much from him already. The woman’s resemblance to the departed Alana was uncanny. His memory drifted to the real Alana and their last night together. How sweet the taste of her final breath in his mouth! He tugged the cuff of his shirt over the faint scar of scratches on his wrists. The bitch. She deserved what she got. They all did. Perhaps he could use this resemblance to his advantage. Use her to put the final screw in his revenge when he exposed her treachery. Then he’d set his trap and watch Jonas’s world fall apart. Watch Jonas lose all claims to the trust fund, to his research, to his future. Watch Jonas as he realized he was doomed to die the same horrid death his father had died—painful, destructive. Yes, he could make this work to his advantage. He would watch and manipulate. He would stir the pot of suspicion. The lies would be exposed. Then he’d have his revenge…and more. CATHLYNN FOLLOWED Valentin up and down the meandering, dimly lit corridors to a set of stairs carved straight out of the gray stone. The cool, damp air chilled her to the bone. She tried to shake the uneasiness licking at her heels, then shifted her concentration to memorizing the path they followed, but one colorless stone wall pretty much looked like the next, and she lost count of the multitude of shadowed arched doors with black iron locks they passed. “The place doesn’t look this big from the outside,” Cathlynn said, trying to dispel the gloomy silence between them. “Non, madame.” “Do you ever get lost?” Cathlynn asked with a forced chuckle. The eerie clipping of her footsteps behind the butler’s silent ones on the stone stairs reminded her irrationally of a prisoner being led to his execution. “Non, madame.” Valentin, it seemed, was not a man of many words. Between Jonas’s glowering silences and Valentin’s sparse conversation, this could prove to be a very long two weeks. “It must be hard to keep up with the housework.” “Most of the house is closed, and in the summer we hire staff to keep up appearances for the weekend guided tours. Curiosity about the monks’ legend brings them in.” “I’m not familiar with the legend.” “The curse of the Holy Cross Brotherhood.” “Ah.” Cathlynn couldn’t think of anything else to say as she followed Valentin’s ramrod-stiff penguin gait. When they turned into an upstairs hallway, the walls’ wraithlike shadows reached out for her again. Their cold, clammy fingers snatched at her hair, prickling the base of her neck with a feeling of coming doom. She quickly reached back to brush the uncomfortable feeling away, half expecting her fingers to twine into the sticky ectoplasm of a ghost. Instead, they met only empty space. Beware. The whisper echoed eerily inside her head, erupting a series of shivers down her spine. “Does anyone besides you and Jonas live here?” she asked, sure a logical conclusion could be found for her auditory hallucination. “No one, madame.” He paused for an instant. “Except perhaps the ghosts.” “Ghosts?” Cathlynn had a feeling Valentin wanted to scare her deliberately. Why? Whatever the reason, his tactic was definitely working. Cathlynn couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this spooked about anything, and wondered again at the wisdom of her decision to stay. I’m safe, she repeated to herself like a mantra. The joy she’d bring her grandmother with the Aidan Heart was worth a few nights in a scary house. It couldn’t be worse than the sleepless nights she’d spent after listening to some of her brother’s ghost stories. “The monks, madame. They lived and died here for a century before disappearing.” “What happened to them?” “Their secret was discovered.” “Their secret?” She almost wished Valentin had stuck to one-word answers. The old geezer was giving her a bad case of the creeps. He shook his head. “Too unspeakable to mention.” He stopped by a door and clinked keys from a large brass ring until he found the right one. Probably enjoying the macabre echo they created as the noise bounced off the stone walls, Cathlynn thought. “Their legacy lives on.” His answer left her imagination to run rampant with dastardly possibilities. Fourteen more days of this. She’d scare herself to death before she could take the Aidan Heart home. Valentin unlocked the door and handed her the key before he stepped inside the room and flicked on the lights. “This was Madame Alana’s room.” The house’s stony coldness extended to this room. Cathlynn felt out of place in the large room’s opulence. Not that she didn’t appreciate the fineries of life, but this room, despite its picture-perfect decor, lacked something. Her own house in Nashua might be small, but each room radiated a feeling of warmth, a feeling of life. She found this room’s rigid formality depressing. Yards of sheer material draped the large bed’s canopy. A rich coverlet of emerald and gold, decorated with a dozen pillows in all shapes and sizes, lay over the mattress. Valentin snapped open the heavy emerald brocade curtains trimmed with gold, covering the single window. The darkening gray sky didn’t allow in much light. If anything, it heightened the caged feeling, increasing Cathlynn’s uneasiness. A huge English walnut wardrobe crowded the back wall. Valentin opened the double doors. “I doubt many of these clothes fit you, but…” Cathlynn stuck her tongue out at the butler’s back. Not that she’d want to fit in them, anyway. From what she could see, Alana’s taste in clothes might be expensive, but it lacked subtlety. “I’ll get some of my own stuff tomorrow.” “As you wish, madame.” Cathlynn walked to the small vanity and trailed a finger along the dust on the old wood. This house with all its empty rooms and cavernlike corridors would dampen her natural optimism if she let it. Was that why Alana had left? Had the incredible sadness of the house finally overcome her? “What was she like—Alana?” Cathlynn asked as she picked up a silver brush scrolled with a fancy S from the tray on the vanity. “It is not my place to answer your questions.” Valentin bustled about at amazing speed for someone so frail-looking. He heaped the decorative pillows onto the carved trunk at the end of the bed, turned down the coverlet, then opened the heavy wood door next to the vanity. “The bathroom is through here. There are fresh towels behind the door.” “You don’t approve, do you?” Cathlynn asked as she replaced the brush in its exact position, then turned to face the stern butler. “It is not my place to pass judgment.” “I’m not trying to replace her.” “As I said, madame, it is not my place to say. But…” “But what?” Valentin’s balding pate, beaked nose and loose jowl skin reminded her of an aging eagle. He searched her face with a narrowed gaze, then as if changing his mind, he shrugged. “Madame Alana’s disappearance has saddened us all.” “I’m sure it has…” Cathlynn felt sure he’d wanted to say something else. He bowed and backed out the door. “If you need anything, madame, the intercom is by the door. Ring the service button and someone will answer.” He made it sound as if the house teemed with servants. “Thank you, Valentin.” “Soyez prudente,” Valentin mumbled as he left. What had he said? Before Cathlynn could ask for an explanation, Valentin shut the door with a resounding boom that echoed down the empty corridor like a small explosion. She looked at the ancient key in her hand. At least he hadn’t locked her in. She could leave at any time. With a sigh she went to the window. Maybe she should leave. The snow fell in fat weighted flakes that stuck to the glass with the wind’s force. Shapeless white blanketed the cobbled courtyard. The last of the auction goers were leaving, their headlights cutting bright arcs across the darkening sky. Only her own Volvo remained—a white mound in the flat yard. She sat on the window’s stone ledge, leaned her head against the frigid glass and blew against the pane, clouding it with her warm breath. With a finger she squiggled a random doodle. As Cathlynn’s mind drifted to her childhood, a circle of pines replaced the monastery’s shadowy landscape. The roses of her grandmother’s garden bloomed all around her. Gram’s finest china and linen graced the flaking wooden picnic table. Cathlynn saw herself carrying a plate heaped with cakes and tarts as Gram poured the tea into cups. She remembered well the taste of the tangy lemon curd sauce she heaped onto scones. But most of all she remembered the way her grandmother’s face lit up when she spoke of Aidan and Deirdre’s love. Cathlynn had felt so secure, so safe in that circle of pines, surrounded by the scent of roses and her grandmother’s friendship. Was it so wrong to want the feeling back? Was it so wrong to want to see that bright light in Gram’s eyes once more? She studied Alana’s room again. Secure was the last thing she felt right now. She was cold and alone, and if truth be told, a little scared. What did she know about Jonas Shades? What if he had killed his wife? If the house wasn’t creepy enough, her unseemly reaction to its master would be enough to shake her confidence. But he needed her alive, didn’t he? Until this mysterious Christmas fete she would be safe—then she’d be gone with the Aidan Heart. Cathlynn sighed wearily. She didn’t have long to wash up before Jonas expected her to put in her first performance. She couldn’t let herself fall prey to the house’s dreary mood. She crossed the room and went into the bathroom. Again the opulence caught her by surprise. Who would have thought the plumbing could be so modern? A sunken tub, big enough for two, took up most of the room. Had Jonas and Alana shared loving baths here? She giggled at her image of Jonas surrounded by frothy scented bubbles—not too likely! Alana’s toiletries still stood on a mirrored tray. How odd. Cathlynn picked up a half-used blood-red lipstick and replaced it before trailing a finger through the assortment of bottles and jars on the tray. Wouldn’t a woman bent on running away have taken at least some of her toiletries with her? Wouldn’t she have taken some of her clothes, too? How fast had she fled, and why? Some even say he killed her himself… A shudder shook her. Her gaze shifted to the wooden tray at the opposite end of the counter. She picked up the cologne bottle made by a local perfumery. Inhaling the scent, she realized it held the same woodsy tone that Jonas wore, which had so muddled her senses earlier. Had Alana picked it out for him, or was it his choice? For an insane half moment, she hoped it was the latter. Curiosity led her to the wooden door opposite the one leading to her room. Jonas’s room? Her hand hesitated for a second on the knob, but when she found it turned, she pushed it and went in. She smiled. Now this room looked lived in. Unlike Alana’s pristine room, this place was a delightful mess. Magazines, papers, maps lay in disarray over every piece of man-size furniture. Clothes had been dropped in a heap on an easy chair and forgotten. Even the bed was mussed. Either Valentin’s housekeeping skills weren’t up to par, or Jonas didn’t like his privacy intruded upon. Cathlynn expected the red, green and blue plaid comforter had been chosen more for comfort than eye appeal. She sat down on the edge of the bed in the darkened room, feeling its coziness while she ran a hand over the blue flannel sheets. She’d much rather sleep in this room than share the other with Alana’s ghost. How long had it been since Alana and Jonas had shared a room? A bed? What would it be like to sleep with Jonas here? Would she feel secure or defenseless? Would he show her his blustery side, or would the sensuality promised by his full lips come through? She blushed at the thought. She didn’t want to know. Not really. Because to know, she’d have to expose too much of herself, and she couldn’t afford to do that. So lost was she in her daydream that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. When a hand buried itself erotically in her hair, she screamed and jumped off the bed. With her heart beating a hundred miles an hour, she whirled to face her attacker, hands forward in a defensive position. She found herself looking straight into Jonas’s remote face and desire-darkened eyes. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to come into a man’s room uninvited?” Chapter Three “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to scare people out of their skins?” Cathlynn said, raising a hand to her tripping heart while the panicked rush of her pulse tried to regain its balance. Gray, like smoke, his silhouette had no sharp edges in the bedroom’s dusky light, Jonas looked more intimidating than ever. She shook her head to bury the primal betrayal of her body to his erotic touch of her hair. As she moved to put distance between them, seeking to remove the disturbing threat of his nearness, his gaze fixed her unblinkingly. But she wasn’t fast enough. His hand caught her wrist, circling it like a warm manacle, holding fast like tempered steel. Her pulse bumped beneath his thumb, unmasking her cool exterior. “A man’s room is where he dreams, where he conquers.” His free hand buried itself in her hair once more, bringing her face close to his as he whipped her cuffed hand behind her and pressed her body against his. Her lips parted involuntarily in anticipation of his kiss. A stab of fear pierced her gut at the violent storm in his eyes. Her skin snapped and crackled with static where their bodies met. “Unless you’re prepared for the consequences,” he said, his breath vibrating against her lips, “I suggest you keep out of my room.” She swallowed hard, wishing he’d let her go, hoping insanely he’d kiss her. “I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He let her go abruptly. She fell back. Rubbing the wrist he’d held, she recalled his steely warmth, the echo of his pulse beating in opposition, then in rhythm, to hers, the rush of heat it had stirred in her blood. She wondered how his lips would have felt against hers. Would they have been soft as their fullness promised, or hard like the rest of his face? Why did she care? She shot him a quick glance. He grabbed a blue-heathered sweater from his dresser and pulled it over his head, nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened between them. And nothing had, she reminded herself, except for the temporary short-circuiting of her brain. The wool molded over his shoulders, accentuating their breadth, their might. He centered the knot of his tie between the starched collar of his white shirt. She looked away, not wanting to be sucked into the vortex of his strength once again. It had been a long time since she’d dared let a man touch her, let a man make her feel vulnerable. And as out of place as it seemed, she had wanted him to touch her, to kiss her. With his hard eyes and soft lips, Jonas Shades would be the wrong place to start looking for easy companionship. There was nothing easy or companionable about him, especially in the lengthening shadows of the room. Yes, the stony set of his face almost guaranteed she’d get emotionally bruised and battered in this relationship. And when he was through, there would be nothing left of her in the splintered remnants spit out of his twister. But he would escape unscathed—as she suspected he always did. “What did you want?” he asked, his voice filled with impatience. The clandestine light of dusk shifted around him, shielding the mirror of his eyes from her view. “Nothing. I—I…” She didn’t know what to say. That was a first. Cathlynn O’Connell at a loss for words! She recoiled farther away, closer to the bathroom, closer to escape. “It doesn’t matter.” He dismissed her stammer with a wave of his hand. “I needed to see you anyway. There are a few things we need to go over.” He snapped on the overhead light, throwing garish light over the room, playing sharp black shadows against the gray stone walls. After clearing the clothes from the easy chair, he gestured for her to sit. “Come, we don’t have much time.” She shook her head at his invitation and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “What kind of things?” The chair would cage her, and she needed to feel free. “Alana’s history.” “Oh, yes. I suppose that would help.” A soft sigh of relief escaped her. Away from his formidable proximity, she regained her poise. “I wish you’d sit,” he said. “So you can tower over me? Forget it. I’ll stand.” His eyebrows rose and he gave her an odd look. “Suit yourself.” Jonas paced the room with studious purpose, pulling facts from the files of his mind. His hasty movements took him in and out of the shadows as if he belonged equally in the worlds of light and dark. Lover or murderer? She shook her head to dispel the grisly thought. “Your name is Alana Chandler Shades,” Jonas said. “Your mother’s na—” “My name is Cathlynn.” She couldn’t help it. Submitting meekly wasn’t her style. “I told you I can’t use hers.” He stopped pacing and stood hands on hips. “Must you be so difficult? We don’t have time to waste.” “Why, yes, I must.” She mimicked his voice, his movements, and felt a smile tug the corner of her mouth. Yes, this was better. Having Jonas unstrung and struggling for control was much better than the other way around. This she could handle. “My wife’s name is Alana, how do you expect me to explain the discrepancy?” “Use your imagination.” He grumbled something about cursed luck under his breath and resumed his pacing, giving her a terse history of his life with Alana. They’d met while he’d interned over summer vacation at the U.S. branch of Chandler Pharmaceuticals. Encouraged by Alana’s father, their attraction had grown swiftly; the summer had passed quickly. Promises had been made and honored a year later. “Alana is British?” “By birth. She was raised in Boston.” Jonas’s voice faded and Cathlynn waited for him to continue. He’d recounted his story with factual dryness. Flat and cold like the air in the room. Were the memories too painful, or had deeper feelings never existed? “What happened?” she prodded when he didn’t speak. “We married. I finished my degree. I was offered a permanent research position with Chandler Pharmaceuticals.” He flicked on the bedside light as a distraction to the obvious pain flitting through his expressive eyes, making him human, vulnerable for a moment. The chiseled sternness returned swiftly, making her wonder if she’d been mistaken. He stood silent by the window, offering her a view of his profile. The crisp creases in his winter-weight wool pants matched the furrowed lines on his face. Sadness or guilt? Unexpectedly, Cathlynn wanted to hold him and unburden him from his grief. But she didn’t move. Being a wife wasn’t part of the deal, only acting. He stuck his hands in his pockets, tightening the fabric of his pants over his buttocks, and stared deep into the dark thickness of night. “Both were a mistake.” A mistake? Curiosity had her longing to pursue that thread, but she sensed it would be a blunder. “Is there anything else I should know?” she asked. Watching him stare blankly out the window made her uneasy because she didn’t know what to expect—from him; from her. “What about preferences—food, drink, activities, et cetera?” For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, then he turned from the window and leaned his trim backside on the sill. “She liked everything expensive. Quality didn’t matter, only price. She drank a lot. To forget, she said. As for activities, I’d prefer you not emulate her in that department. I suggest you simply act naturally. Sterling’s bound to sense a forced performance.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s time. Why don’t you run a brush through that mane of yours, and we’ll go down to dinner.” Flexing his thighs, he pushed himself off the sill. “You’ll be all right?” he asked, giving her a queer little look that shivered all the way to her toes. “I’ll be myself,” Cathlynn said. Her smile cracked her face despite an attempt to suppress it. As long as she fought him, she wouldn’t fall. Being herself was no problem, but it might not quite meet Dr. Jonas Shades’s expectations. THE DINING ROOM proved as formal and gloomy as the rest of the house. Wraithlike shadows played across the tall ceiling. Three multitiered crystal chandeliers hung evenly spaced over the table’s length. The long table could have seated twenty-four easily, but the crisp white linen cloth was set with only three places. The tall red and gold–upholstered chairs dwarfed their occupants. The heavy sideboard stood empty. Here again a series of solemn black-hooded monks stared at them from their gilt frames on the striped wallpaper, passing judgment, it seemed, at the affluence denied them in life. All that’s missing is the cobwebs and the rattling of ghostly chains, Cathlynn thought as she sat in the chair Jonas held for her. Valentin pushed a squeaky cart laden with silver-domed trays while Sterling regaled them with the woes of his transatlantic flight. His voice boomed with disquieting loudness in the cavernous room. “Can you imagine being stuck beside such a chap for all those hours?” Cathlynn downed her chuckle with a sip of water. Her pity sided with Sterling’s unfortunate seatmate. “Are you still afraid of flying, Alana?” Sterling asked, then tested the wine in his goblet. “Please call me Cat—” Jonas tapped her ankle under the table with his foot and glowered an icy warning at her. She stomped slyly on his toe with the heel of her shoe while she smiled graciously at Sterling. Jonas’s pinched lips told her she’d found her mark. “That’s Jonas’s pet name for me, and I’ve grown rather fond of it over the years.” She snatched a roll from the bread basket, tore off a piece and slipped easily into her role. She had to play it well; her dream was at stake, not only Jonas’s. But playing it Jonas’s way wouldn’t work, and as much as he scared her with his frosty charm and tempestuous eyes, she had nothing to fear until he held the trust—then she’d be gone before she could suffer his wrath. “If I’d gotten over my fear of flying,” Cathlynn continued, “I’d surely have flown to England to visit you. I’d forgotten what an interesting person you are. But there’s just something about trusting your life to a shell of metal thirty thousand feet above the ground.” She scrunched her shoulders and feigned a shiver. “It’s really quite safe, you know.” Sterling picked at the plate Valentin placed in front of him, removing the orange sauce from the chicken breast with the side of his fork. “Tell me, dear boy, is that butler of yours the only servant you’ve got left? I rang the service bell for half an hour before I got an answer.” Jonas sawed his meat. His jaw twitched once before he answered. “Times have been hard lately. We do the best we can.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sylvie-kurtz/blackmailed-bride/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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