The psychiatrist shook her head. “I’m afraid it isn’t that easy my dear, no matter what the television serials imply. It takes hours and hours. It takes hard work and complete commitment and wanting to remember.”
“But I do want to remember!”
After a moment the woman smiled. “I believe that you do, Ms. O’Neill. But forgive me, I should be saying Lady Ashton.”
“Why?” Cathlin said flatly. “It’s just for the will. In a week this marriage will be over and I’ll be Ms. O’Neill again.”
“You sound wistful.”
“You’re wrong about that!”
“Am I?” Again the faintly sad smile. “As you will. But I fear I must be going now. My husband and that intense Mr. Hayes are returning. For some reason, I can never feel entirely comfortable around that young man.”
James Harcliffe cocked his head as he strode up, with the young man in question a careful pace behind him. “So sorry if I’m interrupting anything, my dear.”
“No, nothing. I was simply telling Lady Ashton how lovely she looked. So very refreshing to see someone take charge of her own wedding, dressing just as she likes without all this folderol and expense.” She smiled and Cathlin felt as if they were sharing a private joke.
“Yes, quite lovely,” James Harcliffe agreed indifferently. “Rather unorthodox however.”
“Nonsense, James. She looks wonderful.” Joanna Harcliffe took her husband’s arm, effectively cutting him off in midsentence. “But we really should be off. It would be nice if we could make your sister’s party without being disgracefully late for a change.”
After a stiff farewell, Harcliffe moved toward the door, only to halt and turn back. “Your gloves? How the devil should I know? You never lose things, Joanna.”
His wife came back toward Cathlin. “Here they are, just as I thought. I’m afraid it’s all true, my dear,” she said, patting Cathlin’s hand. “The memory really is the first thing to go.”
Cathlin watched the unlikely couple move off, Harcliffe doing all the talking and his wife doing all the listening. Suddenly she felt something prick her palm. Looking down, she saw that Elizabeth Harcliffe had pressed a business card between her fingers listing her office number and a twenty-four-hour answering service.
It takes hard work and complete commitment. It also takes wanting to remember.
Cathlin felt something pull at the pit of her stomach. Did she have that kind of commitment? Did she really want to remember, no matter how painful the result?
She wasn’t certain, not even now.
“You look a thousand miles away.” Silent as usual, Dominic had come to her side.
She shrugged. “I suppose I was.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Cathlin looked at his long, tanned fingers wrapped around an etched crystal champagne flute. How could he always look so strong, so handsome, so damned competent? “No,” she said flatly. “But I will take some of this.” She reached for his glass and emptied it.
“Delighted to be of use,” Dominic said dryly.
“Oh, you’re bound to have any number of uses. Carrying wine cases and chasing away intruders is just a start.” Cathlin snared another glass of champagne. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass. “And here’s to the departure of that terrible man.”
Their eyes locked. A wave of hunger flooded Dominic’s face.
The force of it let Cathlin reeling. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“What way?”
“Like you can’t decide whether to kiss me or deck me or drag me away somewhere?”
“Maybe because I can’t decide whether to kiss you or deck you or drag you away somewhere.”
Too smart. Too fast. Definitely too dangerous, Cathlin thought. “Forget it, Officer Montserrat.” She was determined to remind him this was business.
“Dominic,” he said huskily. “Barring that, try ‘husband,’ or ‘my dear.’”
“Don’t count on it anytime this century.”
Again the hungry gaze. Cathlin blinked and gulped her champagne.
“More champagne, my lady?” Ghostlike, Marston appeared, carrying a bottle of nicely misted Dom Ruinart Blanc de Blancs.
“That would be lovely, Marston.”
Dominic arched a brow as Cathlin tipped the pale, creamy froth to her mouth. “Going a little heavy, aren’t you, Irish?”
“Nonsense. Drinking is my job. Well, tasting at least,” she said scrupulously. Her head cocked. “Are those two people friends of yours or Lord Draycott?”
“Both, actually. Michael Burke is a good man. But I should call them the marquess and marchioness of Sefton, to be precise, even though Michael prefers his old naval title. His wife’s an archaeologist by trade and a magician by birth, if half of Michael’s stories are true.”
Cathlin looked at the softly laughing couple. They were standing very close, their hands entwined. “They look very much in love.” Her voice was wistful.
“So they are. And they deserve it. They’ve both had a rough time.”
Cathlin shrugged. She wasn’t going to think of shadows. She definitely wasn’t going to think about a man with bottomless green eyes, on whom she was coming to rely entirely too much. What she was going to do was snare another glass of that wonderful champagne.
“Are you sure you want that, Irish?”
“Absolutely.” She waved her hand, narrowly avoiding Marston’s shoulder.
Dominic frowned. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“Of course,” his new wife said grandly. “Huge amounts of food.”
Marston edged past, tray in hand. “Half of a croissant for breakfast, my lord. Two strawberries for lunch,” he said helpfully.
“I see,” Dominic said slowly, watching a very becoming flush slip over Cathlin’s neck and chest.
“Quite, my lord,” Marston murmured.
“What?” Cathlin frowned and steadied herself with a hand on a nearby chair. “What do you see?”
“Everything, I should think.” Dominic took the empty goblet from her fingers and set it on Marston’s tray. “No more, thank you, Marston.”
“What, had enough, have you?” Cathlin studied Dominic smugly.
“I believe I have.”
“Well, I haven’t.” Cathlin threw her hands wide, narrowly missing a priceless Tang ceramic horse. “I could go on drinking Dom Ruinart all night.”
“Not tonight.” Dominic’s eyes darkened. “Not on our wedding night.”
Cathlin frowned and reached for another glass. As she did, Dominic turned, managing to jostle her arm so that the champagne landed in a potted orange shrub.
“Really, Dominic,” Cathlin said crossly. “If you can’t tolerate alcohol, you shouldn’t drink.”
“How right you are, my dear.” A smile ghosted over Dominic’s face as he took her hand. “Maybe you’ll be kind enough to give me a steadying hand.”
“Of course. No reason I shouldn’t—” Cathlin stopped abruptly. “Where are we going?”
“It is our wedding night. People are rather expecting us to leave,” Dominic said gently.
“Can’t leave with all these guests still here.” Again she gestured broadly.
Dominic eased a priceless Sèvres figurine out of her striking range. “Rude, is it?”
“Absitively.” She blinked, then cleared her throat. “Rude, I mean. Couldn’t possibly leave. Not yet.”
“And just how long are we supposed to stay?” There was a glitter in Dominic’s eye.
“Don’t ask me. Never been married before.” Cathlin eyed him uncertainly. “Have you?”
“Not that I recall,” Dominic said dryly.
By now he had a secure grip on her arm and was guiding her through the room.
She sniffed.
“Try some of this lovely champagne,” she advised Serita as they moved past. “It’s doing wonders for me.”
Serita frowned. “Cathlin, have you eaten today?”
Marston ghosted past. “Half a croissant for breakfast. Two strawberries for lunch,” he murmured.
“Why does everyone keep talking about food? Where’s the champagne, that’s what I want to know.” Cathlin took a step, frowned, then put a hand on Marston’s arm for support. “Could you find me another glass of that divine Dom Ruinart?”
“Er, the champagne, my lady?” The butler looked at Dominic, who gave a tiny shake of his head. “Alas, my lady, I fear it is—all gone. Yes, it was a great hit. A very good suggestion of yours to serve it. May I compliment you on your taste?”
“Don’t know why. It was your idea, though you were amazingly clever about making me think it was mine.” Cathlin peered at him. “Are all butlers like you? If so, I can’t imagine how anyone in England manages without you.”
Marston’s cheeks went bright pink. He murmured something incomprehensible and strode off, glasses rattling audibly on his silver tray.
“Come on,” Dominic muttered. “Marston has something he wants us to see in the kitchen.”
“But why did he leave? Did I say something wrong?”
“I expect he’s not used to compliments from beautiful women,” Dominic said smoothly. “Meanwhile, no more champagne for you.”
“I’ll have whatever I want. Don’t think this ridiculous ceremony entitles you to order me around.”
“The wedding doesn’t, but my job here does.” Dominic’s voice was grim. “Until this is over I need you one hundred percent sober.”
They were still arguing when they made their way back into the kitchens, where rows of copper pots gleamed from hooks above a pristine white marble counter.
“Marston’s domain, I take it.”
Dominic nodded. “He won’t thank us for disturbing anything. I warn you, he’s a true dictator in his realm.”
At that moment the butler appeared, his face impassive. “I believe you informed me I should beware of anything unusual, my lord. Boxes, bags, packages and things of that sort. If you’d care to come this way, there’s one particular item that’s had me more than a little curious.” He pulled open the door to a massive sixteenth century French armoire at the end of the kitchen and lifted out a cardboard box. “I found this on the counter just before the wedding ceremony today. I was curious because there were no deliveries expected.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “What did the card say?”
“That’s just it, my lord. There wasn’t any card.”
“You were right to alert me, Marston.”
The butler started to open the box, but Dominic caught his hand. “Don’t.”
“But why—”
“Not yet.” Dominic reached into his pocket and pulled out a metal box which he ran carefully around the outsides of the box, watching the dial.
“A possible electronic triggering device?”
“It never hurts to be prepared,” Dominic said grimly. When his search revealed nothing, he pocketed the electronic sensor and pried open the top flap. Inside was a mass of folded white tissue paper. Dominic frowned. “You two had better move back.”
Then he began to unroll the white tissue, every motion slow and controlled.
“You’re wrong, you know. It’s probably something totally ordinary like a cake.” Cathlin smiled crookedly. “Or a bottle of merciless zinfandel.”
Dominic frowned, remembering other seemingly innocent packages that had escaped detection only to blow up in their recipients’ faces twenty minutes after their arrival. He happened to know that one small briefcase could hold enough plastique to blow up the whole abbey. “I’m not taking any chances.”
Layer by layer the tissue parted. He felt sweat beading his forehead as he ran through the various devices that could be used to trigger a detonation from a remote location. None of them took up much space or weight.
The last layer of tissue slid free.
And then Dominic stood, staring speechless at the bottom of the box as a wave of heat climbed to his face.
“Dominic, what is it?” Cathlin moved closer, trying to see into the box.
“Nothing important.” He shoved the box out of reach. “Just forget it.”
But Marston outmaneuvered him, sliding past Dominic and lifting out the box’s contents, his expression deadpan. “Excessively dangerous, my lord. Most lethal indeed.”
From Marston’s fingers dangled a nearly transparent froth of black lace and satin ribbons. It was the sort of nightwear bought by sinfully elegant women in sinfully expensive Parisian boutiques. Marston’s eyebrow rose as he lifted another item from the box, this one a single piece of black nylon meant to cover the male anatomy—but just barely. “An anonymous wedding gift, my lord?”
Cathlin pulled the smaller garment from Marston and tugged it between her fingers, frowning at its size. “But how would you, that is, how could this possibly—”
“Never mind,” Dominic growled, snatching away the two items and tossing them back into the box. He glared at Marston. “And if I ever hear one word said about this, Marston. One single, bloody word…”
The butler looked affronted by the mere suggestion that he would ever breach a confidence.
“Come on, Cathlin,” Dominic said harshly. “Let’s say goodbye to the guests. Then there are some security arrangements for the wine that I want to discuss with you.”
“But what about these lovely gifts?” There was a wicked gleam in Cathlin’s eyes. “I adore black, and something tells me you’ll look positively unforgettable in—whatever that bit of nylon is called.”
Dominic muttered something sharp and unrepeatable. “Now, damn it.”
AS MARSTON WATCHED THE pair storm out, a smile crept over his lips. “Yes, altogether a most satisfactory day.” Marston was still smiling a few moments later when Nicholas and his wife strode into the kitchen.
“Mission accomplished?”
“Quite satisfactorily, I would say, your lordship.”
“Wonderful.” A smile softened the viscount’s angular features.
“Nicholas, you didn’t! What a beastly thing to do to them.”
“I am afraid, your ladyship, that he did.” Marston smiled broadly at the viscountess. “It was most interesting to watch a grown man blush, by the way.”
Nicholas gave a bark of laughter, while his wife managed to look disapproving. “You two are impossible, you know. Just like two children.”
“Yes, I expect so,” the viscount said happily. “Perhaps this will make up for what Dominic did to me the last time we were in Bangkok.”
His wife’s eyes widened. “What is that supposed to mean, Nicholas Draycott?”
“I couldn’t possibly repeat it,” her husband said coolly. “It would be a violation of A-level state secrets.”
“I’ll violate a great deal more than state secrets if you don’t tell me all about it this minute.”
“I suppose I might be persuaded to talk,” Nicholas murmured. “Under great duress, of course. Seduced by the wiles and intrigues of a trained enemy agent.” Heat filled his eyes as he looked down into his wife’s smiling face.
Kacey inched closer. She slid up onto tiptoes and whispered something in Nicholas’s ear. The viscount looked skyward and shook his head. “Some torture is definitely beyond a man’s capacity for resisting.” He took his wife’s arm and guided her toward the corridor. “Very well, Mata Hari, it all began some time ago…”
“Is Michael Burke in this story?” his wife asked eagerly.
“As it happens, he was there too.”
Kacey clapped her hands in glee. “Perfect. I want every single detail. And I am prepared to pay well, of course,” she added wickedly.
Nicholas slanted a pleading look skyward. “Definitely more torture than any red-blooded man could bear. Maybe we’ll have to leave for London sooner than I planned,” he murmured, as his wife pulled him out of the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY
DARKNESS GATHERED IN THE valleys and slipped over the silent hills. Somewhere in the ni
ght an owl cried, long and shrill.
“I’ll rest easier now that there’s a backup generator in place.” Dominic and Nicholas stared at the dark hills. Dominic’s old associate from London had worked through the day, and the system was now complete. “At least we won’t be having any more unexpected visitors.”
Nicholas studied his friend. “You’re sure you want me to leave, Dominic? I could change my plans, if you think—”
“No, I’ll handle things here. Now that the power is guaranteed, we’ll be fine. Harcliffe has promised to send some more men down in the morning, along with whatever equipment I need. So shove off, Nicky. Take your wife and daughter off to London, as planned, and stop fretting.”
The viscount sighed. “Very well. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do.”
“But what about—”
“Good-bye, Nicholas.” This time it was a flat order.
“WHAT AN EXTRAORDINARY wedding.”
All the other guests had left, and now Cathlin and Serita stood in the rose-filled courtyard before the gatehouse. Cathlin watched a swan part the sleek waters of the moat. “Too bad it wasn’t real,” she muttered.
“It could be, you know. That’s up to you and Dominic. There’s something else you should know. La Trouvaille is his.”
Cathlin’s eyes widened. “I don’t believe it. What about all the stories?”
“Just a smoke screen. He wants total privacy and no interference until he’s convinced the wine is as good as he can make it.”
“But it’s wonderful!”
“Try telling Dominic that. My guess is he’s still feeling shaky about whether he can pull off such a huge change in his life.” Serita frowned. “He’s a good man, Cathlin. Not at all like the image he projects. That was all part of his work, to allow him to mingle among high-profile celebrities and Royals, with no one the wiser. Underneath the flash, he’s very kind—and very careful.”
Cathlin sniffed. “He would be. He likes to be in control of every detail. I suppose that’s what makes him such a good bodyguard.”
“Made him,” her friend corrected. “He’s out of that life for good, from all I hear. It took this wretched will to force him out of retirement.”
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