by Trisha Telep
Could this young Comte really be the man she’d lost her heart to twenty-two years ago?
Dusk had fallen by the time they landed. After their passports had been checked, Christian guided her to a black limousine and they headed off to the Institute of Art.
Tricia huddled in a corner of the back seat, staring at Christian, confusion unravelling her thoughts. The highlights in his hair shone guinea gold in contrast to the black trousers and black leather jacket he’d donned for their night foray. He smiled, his green eyes glittering with gold flecks. Instead of taking the far seat, he slid up beside her as the car moved off. “I’m sorry to have upset you. Do you forgive me?”
A tight little laugh burst from her throat. “No! You lied to me.” She’d thought she knew the man she loved but she hadn’t known him at all.
He gave a small resigned nod of understanding. “I did not break up with you because you were immature as I alleged but because I wanted to protect you from the dangers in my life.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not immature now. I’m old enough to be your mother.”
He took one of her hands and gripped it tightly in his warm palm. “Believe me, looks can be deceiving.”
“I’m forty. You were masquerading as twenty-one a few hours ago. That makes me old enough to be your mother.”
“You’d have been a very young mother,” he said with a teasing smile.
“Stop splitting hairs.” She yanked her hand away from him. Despite her protestations, she felt more like an ignorant child. “Why haven’t you aged?”
He angled his head, searching her face for her reaction as he answered. “I do age. My secret is that I can renew myself.”
“Huh? So you’ve discovered an elixir of eternal youth?” Sarcasm edged her words.
“I renew myself with fire, Tricia. The fire inside the crystal pyramid you have at the Institute of Art is the life essence of a man like me. My race was at its most powerful in ancient Egypt. We’re the Sons of Ra.”
His words zapped her befuddled brain to full alert. Her job had taught her a lot about Egyptian history. Ra the sun god was supposed to die every evening when the sun went down only to be reborn when the sun rose again in the morning. His followers had worshipped him in a temple called the Mansion of the Phoenix.
Sun, fire, rebirth.
Her breath trembled. Was Christian telling the truth?
If she believed him, then that meant the transparent pyramid in the Institute’s basement contained the essence of a man. It also meant that the green fire she’d seen in the pyramid in Christian’s room all those years ago had been his life essence. The idea was impossible to comprehend.
Full dark had fallen by the time the limousine drew up outside the Institute. Tricia stepped out into the pool of illumination beneath a street light. Panic caught in her throat as she mounted the steps to the impressive entrance of the Victorian building. She retrieved her keycard from her purse and swiped it before tapping in the access code.
Christian glanced over his shoulder then followed her into the building. The security lights blinked on when they sensed movement. “Make sure you lock this door behind us,” he instructed.
The serious tone of his voice made her pause to stare at him. “Are you expecting some kind of trouble?”
“Let us say it pays to be careful.”
Christian prowled around, his gaze darting down the shadowy side corridors. How had she ever fallen for the story that he was only twenty-one? Everything about him screamed experience and power. He returned to her and placed a hand on her back. “Take me to the ben ben.”
“I need to check in with security first.”
Christian gave a single nod. “I’ll come with you.”
Even the hollow sound of Christian’s footsteps behind her held the ring of authority.
Once the guard had deactivated the alarm system on the basement level, Tricia led Christian down the narrow stairs that had originally been used by domestic staff back in the days when the building had been a private mansion.
“The ben ben didn’t come down these stairs. Is there another way in?” Christian asked.
“The old servant’s entrance gives access at basement level. The doorway’s been enlarged to allow crates to be delivered that way.”
“How are the objects in the basement moved up to the gallery?”
“There’s a service elevator.”
Christian paused at the foot of the stairs to glance around. “Any other exits? Maybe doors that aren’t normally used.”
“There’s a fire door on every floor, leading to the fire escape at the back of the building. Except on this level.”
He gave another of his quick nods. “Show me the ben ben, please.”
Tricia stared at him while his gaze tracked around the space. His eyes glowed an inhuman golden green in the muted light. That did more to convince her he had told the truth about the Sons of Ra than anything he’d said. “What will you do with the pyramid?”
“I’ll decide when I see it.”
Not the answer for which she’d hoped. She just wanted him to crate the thing up and take it away so she could be done with all this weirdness.
She led him into the assessment room where all new pieces of doubtful origin were checked before being logged on to the system. So far, the only official record of the pyramid was a delivery note.
Tricia snapped over ten switches on the lighting control panel. Spotlights beamed on to the transparent pyramid in the centre of the room.
Christian stilled beside her. For long seconds he didn’t even appear to breathe. The blue-tinged flames in the heart of the artifact danced and flickered, as real as any fire she’d ever seen. “Merde. That shade of blue belongs to Benedict Rothswell’s family.”
A jolt of shock rooted Tricia to the spot. She sucked in a breath. He couldn’t mean . . . “Are you talking about the Duke of Buckland?”
Christian wheeled around to face her. “You know him?”
“He’s the Institute’s patron. He owns this building.” She flung out an arm to indicate the mansion. “He owns half of Bristol actually.”
“And you touched the ben ben?” Christian’s gaze narrowed. “We have a serious problem.”
“I have to concur, Lefevre,” a deep masculine voice said. “I take a very dim view of your entering my territory without invitation, or even permission.”
The smooth, deep baritone of The Duke of Buckland made Tricia turn, her heart thumping. “Your Grace. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.” She winced inwardly at the stupid comment. He’d obviously arrived unannounced in the middle of the night to avoid discovery.
The duke’s flaring blue gaze made her step back. She’d met him five times as part of the management team welcoming him to an event at the Institute, and they had never exchanged more than a polite greeting. Tall, with hair the colour of polished ebony, and a cut-glass British accent, he exuded breeding and authority from every inch of his powerful frame. He had the compelling attraction of a large predator. He strode purposefully towards her.
Christian was suddenly in front of her, blocking her view of the duke, yet she hadn’t even seen him move. “She’s mine, Rothswell.”
“You haven’t claimed her yet, Lefevre and she’s in my domain. Ergo, she is mine.”
“I discovered her twenty years ago.”
The duke laughed, a dark chuckle edged with primeval hostility that did not belong to a civilized man. “Negligent of you, Lefevre, not to trap the pretty butterfly before now. I have males in my family who would fight for her. Why should I let you walk away with something so rare?”
“As the price for my help.”
An electric tension hummed in the room as the two men faced each other down. Tricia stepped back and pressed herself to the wall, mute with disbelief at what she’d just heard. They sounded positively medieval. The duke glanced at the pyramid spotlighted in the centre of the room and annoyance flashed across his face.
“I’m gue
ssing that your son rests inside that ben ben,” Christian said softly. “You’ll need help if you plan to force him to renew. Let me take the butterfly back to France and I’ll lend you my power.”
Tricia’s pulse beat so fast the blood vibrated in her temples. It wasn’t difficult to understand that she was the butterfly they were discussing like a couple of Neanderthals vying for the right to drag her away by her hair. She could just about understand why Christian might want her now, after all, he had desired her twenty years ago. But the concept that the Duke of Buckland knew men who would fight over her was absurd.
A coppery flush painted the duke’s cheekbones. When he glanced back at Christian, his eyes glowed blue. “You win this time, Lefevre. But I’m warning you, claim the woman or my family will take her from you and make her ours.”
Tricia did not intend to be claimed as a possession by any man, even a wealthy, handsome, titled man. She edged along the wall towards the door, her breath coming in shallow snatches as the two men approached the pyramid.
Christian stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it over a chair, while the duke removed his charcoal-grey suit jacket and red tie.
The duke ran his hands over the four surfaces of the transparent shape, searching for something. “Here,” he said at length, turning to Christian. “Careless as usual, my son’s left a fault that will give us a starting point.”
Tricia’s retreating feet halted and she stared, unable to drag her gaze away as both men stepped back and extended their arms. A four-foot long sceptre with a flat head and forked tail appeared in each man’s hand. They both pointed the tops of their sceptres at the pyramid. “Cover your ears and look away,” Christian called over his shoulder to her.
A moment later, a blast of gold-green fire from his sceptre hit the pyramid at the weak spot. The duke’s gold-blue fire streamed out, targeting the same spot.
Tricia slapped her hands over her ears at the agonized screaming sound like metal straining under impossible force. She squinted through the shadow of her dark lashes, unable to look away from the terrifying spectacle. The pyramid started to glow so brightly her eyes hurt and the heat warmed her from across the room. The floor beneath the melting crystal had to be getting hot. She sidled closer to the door and scrabbled blindly for the fire extinguisher she knew was there.
“Your son’s resisting the rebirthing,” Christian shouted.
“He’s bloody lazy and doesn’t want to wake up,” the duke replied.
Tricia released the fire extinguisher from its panel and peered at the instructions. Why had she never bothered to find out how the damn thing worked?
Slowly, the transparent pyramid melted. When the trapped blue flames burst forth into the air, Christian and the duke stopped their assault and pulled back.
The fire from inside the pyramid licked the ceiling. Tricia hefted the extinguisher, ready to douse the flames. Before she could press the trigger, the last traces of the pyramid disappeared and a man’s naked body materialized.
Tricia hugged the extinguisher like a lifeline to normality as the man’s face appeared. With his dark hair and blue eyes, the young man closely resembled his father.
Christian hurried back to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Buckland can clear up his mess. Let’s get out of here.”
“Cover yourself up,” the duke growled at his naked son. He cuffed the young man on the side of the head, sending him stumbling into a computer desk, then tossed a dustsheet at him.
Christian eased the extinguisher out of Tricia’s death grip and placed it on the ground.
“Where am I?” The young man asked, blinking in confusion.
“Up to your neck in trouble, boy. As usual.” The duke grabbed his son by the arm and propelled him past them and out of the door. The boy looked barely more than a teenager. His bemused blue gaze snagged hers when he passed and her sympathy welled.
The duke paused and seared her with his stare. “Not a word of this to anyone, Lefevre, or the woman’s mine.”
Three
Tricia shrugged Christian’s arm off her shoulders the moment the duke and his son disappeared. As her fear receded, her anger flared. She hurried up the steps from the Institute’s basement and through the silent echoing Victorian hallway to the front door. Her legs felt weak, but she wasn’t going to admit as much.
“The immediate danger is over, Tricia,” Christian said in a soothing tone.
“Wonderful. You can go away then.”
She stomped out of the front door and, despite her bravado, her heart gave a little leap of relief when she saw the black limousine still waiting for them outside. Although she was hurrying in front, Christian managed to pass her and have the car door open for her when she reached the road. She climbed in and crossed her arms.
Once the vehicle was moving, Christian slid closer to her with a disarming grin and ran a fingertip down her arm. There was no hint left of the formidable man who’d stood up to the duke. Instead, he behaved like the charming Comte she’d known years ago, a man who’d spent his days inspecting his vineyards and romancing her. She should be frightened after seeing him blast fire from a sceptre that appeared out of thin air, but her mind couldn’t summon fear. This was her Christian. The man she’d loved. But did she still love him? Was it possible to forgive him for hurting her?
“You know I would never let Buckland take you, don’t you?”
“I won’t let him take me,” she retorted, knowing full well after what she’d seen tonight that the duke wouldn’t ask for her permission. She’d admired the Institute’s patron as a strong, powerful man who got things done. Now the thought of his attitude to her made her temper simmer. “Why did the duke call me a butterfly?”
Christian’s breath sighed out and he laced his fingers through hers. “Buckland is old school and rather medieval in his attitudes. Butterfly is normally a term of endearment, mon amour.”
The limo pulled up outside Tricia’s small house.
“May I come inside?” he asked.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“The term butterfly for a woman was coined centuries ago. The Sons of Ra are all male as the name suggests, but there are women who carry the gene. These women are always drawn to us, like moths to a flame.” He smiled. “I don’t know if someone confused butterflies and moths, but that’s where the term originated.”
“So I carry the gene? Any son I have will be like you?”
“Only a son fathered by one of the Sons of Ra.”
Tricia stared at the back of the driver’s seat her eyes losing focus. She and her ex husband had tried unsuccessfully for five years to have a baby. “If that’s why the duke thinks I’m worth fighting over he needn’t bother. I can’t have children.”
She expected Christian to express shock, sorrow, offer the usual platitudes. Instead, the gentle stroke of his fingers continued brushing her arm. “You’ll only be able to conceive a child with one of us.”
“What?” Tricia’s temper shot to boiling in an instant. She elbowed him away, pulling on the door handle.
“Wait, Tricia.”
She jumped out of the car and rounded on him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tears filled her eyes, ached in her chest. By keeping quiet, he’d sentenced her to years of heartbreak trying for a baby she couldn’t have. She’d lost her husband through the strain the experience had put on their relationship. “When you sent me away, you knew I wouldn’t be able to have a child with another man because of this bloody gene. But you didn’t think that fact was worth telling me?”
She pivoted away from the car and ran up the steps to her front door, fumbling for the key in her purse.
“Tricia, calm down.” Christian gripped her shoulders and she ducked away from his touch.
“Get lost. You had a chance to tell me all this twenty years ago. Instead of helping me to understand, you cut me off with no explanation, even though you knew it would affect my life.”
“I was t
rying to protect you.”
“From what? From jerks like the duke? Strange that I’ve been working for him for the last twelve years then, isn’t it?” Her fingers finally closed around her key and she jammed it in the lock. She tried to squeeze through the door and shut Christian out, but he wedged a foot in the gap.
She gave up trying to exclude him and retreated to the kitchen, flicking on all the lights as she went. The front door closed and she heard the deadlock click and the security chain engage. “We’ll stay here tonight,” Christian said, following her into the kitchen. “You’re tired and distressed. Buckland has enough on his plate this evening dealing with his son. I doubt he’ll come for you.”
“You’re not staying with me,” she snapped.
Ignoring her, he found two mugs and started to make coffee. She stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, watching him. His lithe perfectly balanced body radiated youthful energy. His skin was smooth, not a line or wrinkle in sight. His thick hair gleamed gold under the kitchen spotlights. She turned and stared at her reflection in the glass cabinet doors. She’d kept her figure because she hadn’t had children. Only a few grey hairs had invaded her brown locks. At a pinch, she might pass for thirty-five. Even that age difference might not have mattered, but she would continue to age and he wouldn’t.
Once she would have sold her soul to be with Christian, but times changed. Whatever his reasons, he hadn’t wanted her enough to be honest with her twenty years ago. If the Duke of Buckland had realized she had the magic gene, he’d have spirited her away to some private estate and paired her off with one of his men like a brood mare. When Christian turned her away, he’d left her vulnerable. She didn’t owe him a thing. She would not return to France with him. The damn Duke of Buckland didn’t own the whole of the UK. There must be a place outside of his control where she could live.
While Christian had his back to her, she removed her shoes and walked quietly down the hall, up the stairs and into her room, shutting her bedroom door firmly behind her.
Tricia prepared for bed like an automaton, her mind numb with shock and fatigue. Wearing her oversized T-shirt, she switched off the light and snuggled under her covers.