“Kingston Abbey.”
“That’s right,” Roman glanced at her. “How did you know that?”
“What?” She turned toward him, not realizing she had voiced her thought. “I must have seen it in a brochure,” she murmured, turning back to the abbey’s stone walls, aged and covered in lichen as if the earth had given birth to it.
Just as she knew there was no brochure, she knew this three hundred-year-old abbey. She also knew she must not tell Roman how the name had come to her as it came into view, sitting tall on a hill overlooking the valley where more sheep grazed.
He noticed her interest and slowed the car. She kept her eyes on the tall mahogany doors and felt that same step back in time as she had when she’d first arrived at St. Clair Manor.
She closed her eyes and in her mind’s eye saw the sunlight streaming down from stained glass window casements onto polished pews, painting the wood in rainbow colors. Footfalls against the stone floor inside broke the peaceful silence.
When the hymn began, it was not with the joyous melody she’d expected. Incense and candelabra left a haze over the congregation as the weeping filled her ears. It was a funeral mass. She had died so young…
Her eyes flew open.
“Want to have a look inside?” Roman was smiling at her.
“No. Let’s drive on.”
He gave her a curious look but put his foot down on the accelerator and they sped away.
She watched the road in silence for a while and wondered if she might be going a little bit crazy in England. She’d managed to leave those disturbing dreams behind in New York and now, Yorkshire’s historic landmarks were giving her the chills.
And why couldn’t she leave the name Jacqueline behind with her dreams? Lately, she could not doodle on a sketchpad without the name popping up. Then there was a woman with auburn curls in the manor that no one else would admit to seeing. But Roman had seen her. Why, they had practically chased the woman down at Scarborough Castle earlier, but he refused to admit it.
Amelie was torn between a bizarre excitement of the happenings and a very real fear of what was unknown to her. What were the reasons for these occurrences and why were they happening to her?
* * * *
They reached a distinctive set of rolling hills when Roman stopped the Porsche.
“I want to show you something.” He helped Amelie out of the car and motioned for her to follow him over to a padlocked gate. Taking a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the gate and they continued on foot up a grassy path.
A deer broke through the brush and stopped in its tracks when it saw them, then darted straight across the trail in front of them.
Amelie tried to coax the deer back with sweet words and started to follow it, but the deer ran off.
He helped her over a rock-strewn path and they walked up a slight incline. “This was once a deer park, covering thousands of acres. Over the years most of the deer have been captured in the hunt.”
He leaned against a tree as she stared out over the rolling countryside and in that moment he realized that she needed this. A break from the city, her job. He waited until she turned back to him, with a content smile on her face.
“We’re restoring this park to what it once was, teeming with deer.” He led her off the passageway to a hidden dell. A crisp breeze blew and a gurgling brook eddied through the rocks. Eyeing her skirt, he took off his jacket. He was spreading it on a boulder when she stopped him and sat down. “I’m fine. It’s a brisk day. I like it.”
He stretched out next to her, leaning up on an elbow. “An outdoorswoman. I knew you were made for me.”
“It is beautiful here,” she said. “England is beautiful.”
“Is it so different where you grew up?”
“Not really different.” She scanned the forest. There was nothing but vibrant greens, buttery golds, and rich browns as far as she could see. “Just smaller.”
He laughed. Her laughter made him stop laughing. Hers was a beautiful laugh, light and carefree and he wanted to hear more of it.
“My parents still live in Rouen. I remember when I would sit in the back of my father’s shop sketching shoes and playing dress-up. I imagined I was a grand lady at a ball.”
“You are, you know.”
“What, a grand lady? Well, I thought so. I used to draw a beauty mark on my cheek and pretend Lord-Something-Or-Other twirled me around a ballroom floor.”
His gaze wandered to the sexy quirk of her lips. He whistled a stanza of a Strauss waltz, and she made a face at him. “How did you end up at Penrods?”
“My mother and I spent summers in the States visiting her friends, roaming Manhattan. It was on a visit to the diamond district that I fell in love with antique jewelry. I sketched the designs through the shop windows.” She shook her head in thought, “I guess it was all part of the Plan.”
“Plan?”
“To be the top designer in the industry.” Although she kept her teasing tone, he could tell she meant every word she said.
“Well, number two, at least,” he remarked, just as serious.
“When the time is right, I will start my own design firm,” she warned.
For a few moments, the ordered visage of the self-control freak had vanished. But it was back now, like an armored mask over her face, and he wanted it gone.
“Did you know your lips quirk into the most fetching curves when your dander is up?” he asked.
Her words came to a halt as if she had forgotten the many words in her English vocabulary. When she gave him a blank stare, he caught her off guard with something he had been thinking about since that night in her apartment.
“No time for love? Not even in college, Beauty?”
She hesitated before answering. She could not bring herself to speak about Emil Garamonde. Her college beau was a safer topic. “There was someone, but my work…”
“You did not love him?”
“I’ve never been in love.” She looked down at her hands and fell into silence.
“You have been working, and to all intents and purposes, living at Penrods.”
She looked up at him. He, too, was surprised by the harsh note in his voice.
“I love my work. There was never much time for…anything else.” She exhaled; no doubt, because she knew her excuse was no excuse at all. “It seems a strange concept now sitting here with you.”
“Ah. That’s my girl. Aren’t you relieved now that you’ve admitted it?”
The mask softened into a stubborn grin. “Are you my confessor? Will you grant penance for the indiscretion?”
“Only if I have your word you will change your ways.” He stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet.
Something whizzed past his ear, lifting the hair on the nape of his neck. The sound was foreign to the forest, and he reacted instinctively. He pushed Amelie back down onto the grass and covered her with his body.
He lifted up enough to scan the trees, dense coverage for anyone with a purpose. Even as he thought of this, he was aware of how soft and full Amelie’s breasts were against his chest.
There was a bit of metal protruding from the tree in front of them, a bullet. Someone had just shot at them, barely missing him.
“What is it?” She squirmed her rounded hips underneath him and he was instantly rock-hard.
“Stay down.” He could see nothing out of the ordinary through the trees. The person had used a silencer. His knee slipped between her legs.
“What’s happening?”
“I am afraid that was a stray shot.”
“Do you mean someone shot a gun? I didn’t hear anything.”
“Let’s get back to the car.” He got up slowly, lifting her with an arm about the waist and bracing her with one leg between hers. He stopped himself before picking her up and carrying her off. She probably wouldn’t go for that. Reluctantly, he released her, keeping his body in front of hers as she brushed the leaves from her skirt.
&nb
sp; “Probably just an illegal fox hunt. I’ll get Lyle on it.”
Amelie sat staring out the window at the passing countryside as they drove the mile back to St. Clair Manor in silence and he wondered who was trying to kill him.
* * * *
London – March 1988
The first thing Roman did when he arrived in London the next day was to meet with a private security firm. They had already sent a team to Yorkshire. There were thousands of acres on the estate where one could hide away in a cabin or hunting lodge. He wanted to make sure each and every door and window was secure.
He wasn’t overly concerned about the manor with its state-of-the-art security system. Whoever had tried to shoot him knew not to come up to the manor. Only those who were known would get in, and those who were within were being monitored. James would keep an eye on Amelie.
Roman parked in the garage of Cardiff Jewels’ headquarters in London’s Square Mile. With his briefcase in hand, he walked toward the elevator.
He glanced behind him as a car approached. Its headlights stretched his shadow across the parking garage floor. The car did not slow down as he walked across the garage.
Is the idiot late for a meeting?
He turned for a closer look at the driver but could not see anything through the dark tint of the Mercedes’ windows.
He picked up his pace toward the elevator up to the penthouse.
The car sped up and was coming straight at him.
“Bloody hell!” He lunged to the side, and fell against a parked car.
The Mercedes swerved toward him as he leaped onto the hood of the parked car. It smashed into the front end of the car that he crouched on and he was thrown over the side, onto the hood of a second car.
He hung onto the car’s hood just as the Mercedes rammed the crushed front end of the first car in an attempt to throw him to the ground.
He lost his hold on the hood and fell over the side, between the second car and a third. Scrambling to his feet, he jumped out from between the two cars.
The driver tried again, ramming into the first car once more, but Roman managed to clear the wreck.
“Come on, you bastard.” He stalked around the damaged cars toward his attacker.
With a cement column between him and the Mercedes, the driver could not make another go of it. The car sped away in a squeal of rubber.
Roman ran out into the lane but the Mercedes had already turned the corner on its way down toward the parking garage exit. He couldn’t see a plate number.
He retrieved his crushed briefcase from where he had been standing when the Mercedes came after him.
First, the warehouse fire in Germany, then the bullet in the dell, and now this. He had no known enemies other than his competitors. It was time to run a check on the Garamondes.
With his jacket torn and his elbow scraped raw where he’d landed on it, he took the elevator to the penthouse suite. He began what turned out to be a harrowing day with the authorities for him and the two unfortunate owners of the parked cars, both of which were totaled.
Chapter 9
North Yorkshire, England – March 1988
“It is good you have come.”
Amelie turned at the soft French and squinted up at the woman. She was standing directly behind Amelie but the sun was just at the right angle to obscure her face. Auburn locks waved in the breeze.
She shaded her eyes with a hand, to no avail. “Bonjour. I am sorry, but I don’t know your name.” She waited, firming her lip in growing impatience in the silence. There was something that bothered her about this French maid, who did not act as a maid should.
She stood up clutching her sketch of Zeus with the stone bench between them. She still could not see the woman’s features clearly. The sun appeared even brighter than before so that she could not look directly at the woman. “Do you live here? With Roman?”
“This is my home.”
“I see.”
Bells tinkled on the breeze.
Amelie turned back toward the statue of Zeus. Below the gardens, near the River Wharfe, two white horses galloped.
“They are beautiful,” she whispered.
“It is almost time.”
“Time for what?” She could not take her eyes off the Arabians. She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Bells hung from their tassels as they sped by in fluid motion.
“They have been in your midst for some time, Amelie, waiting for the perfect opportunity.”
The horses jumped across an embankment in unison, never breaking their stride, so lovely…
“They know who you are. They remember.”
“Yes, they remember…” Amelie murmured. The sound of the horse’s hooves pounded through her…
“You will remember.” The woman’s French was so insistent it blocked out the sound of the horse’s hooves in her head.
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t. I can’t…”
“Your precious life depends on it, ma chérie. Remember, Amelie.”
A tray clattered onto the stone bench behind her, and she dropped her sketchpad.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Amelie,” Caroline said. “Tea.”
“Oh. It’s all right. Thank you.” She looked behind Caroline toward the row of hedges leading out of the garden maze. There was no one on the path.
“You’re as white as a sheet. Are you well?”
She picked up the sketchpad and set it down on the bench. “I’m fine. I just need to sit for a moment,” she said, looking down at the River Wharfe. She could not hear the bells anymore, and the Arabians were gone. “Caroline, did you see anyone on the path?”
“The landscaper. Is he disturbing you?”
She followed Caroline’s gaze up to a figure in the distance. The worker was trimming hedges. “No, not at all.”
“Another maid, perhaps?”
“Jilly is polishing silverware and if I know her it will take all day.” Caroline harrumphed. “Do you sketch everything, Miss Amelie?”
“Just about.” She took a deep breath, looked up at the statue of Zeus and back down to her sketchpad. She smudged the charcoal end of his jaw on the sketchpad with her finger.
Caroline peered over her shoulder. “What beautiful horses.”
Amelie stared down at the sketch. “Arabians,” she murmured. Just behind the statue of Zeus in the distance, their long manes flew on the sketchpad. They were drawn proud and beautiful, and not by her hand. Tinkling bells made her look toward the River Wharfe once again. She looked around for the woman who apparently refused to speak with anyone but her.
Caroline was looking at her strangely and shifted on her feet. “The Old Garden rose bushes closer to the house have the most beautiful Albas you have ever seen.”
“I like it here.” She followed Zeus’s gaze out over the River Wharfe. “Couldn’t find me?”
“Oh, it’s not that. I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”
She chuckled. “I’d have an easier time finding my way around out here than in the manor.”
“It’s just that this shooting makes me wonder if what happened six months ago was an accident.”
She glanced at Caroline. “What happened six months ago?”
“I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Caroline started to walk away.
Oh, no you don’t.
“Caroline, wait.” She moved her charcoals off the stone bench. “I would really like some company.”
Caroline looked back up the stone path at the landscaper.
“It is either you or him. Won’t you stay for a while?” She gestured to the half dozen sweet rolls on the tray. “You can help me eat all of this.”
Caroline sat down and reached for a danish. “Maybe just a few minutes.” She took so long to swallow the bit of pastry in her mouth that Amelie feared she had lost her nerve and would defect.
Finally, Caroline spoke. “Master Cardiff doesn’t like gossip. He would be very angry with me if he found out I told you, M
iss Amelie.”
“Told me what?”
“About the hunting accident.”
She put her teacup down. “Another hunting accident? Well, that’s not gossip. That’s a fact, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
Amelie picked up a scone. “You were saying?”
“It was Master Cardiff’s annual hunt. They come from miles around to attend. It’s a tradition. No one realized she was missing until after luncheon when her mount came back without her.”
“Who was missing?”
“Master Cardiff’s girlfriend. They found her under the bridge.” Caroline stopped to pick up a scone. Before she could get it to her mouth and start that incessant chewing again, Amelie held her arm.
“Was she all right?”
“Dead as they come. Shot in the head.”
She choked on her mouthful of scone. “What a terrible thing to happen. Where was Mr. Cardiff when this happened?”
“Hunting, I imagine. The police were already here by the time he returned to the manor. It was ruled a stray shot, an accident.”
She stared out at the River Wharfe. “Poor Roman. Was this…her home?”
“Here? With Master Cardiff? Oh, no,” Caroline chuckled, flicking a crumb off her black starched linen. “It was a bad time for all of us. Her parents went straight to the press, don’t you know.”
There was an excruciating moment of silence while Caroline sipped her tea.
Deciding Caroline had had enough sips, Amelie prompted her. “Why would they do that?”
“She’d been hoping for a marriage proposal. Imagine that.” Caroline grinned, shaking her head at the thought. “Master Cardiff is not the marrying kind. Her parents claimed she had come that weekend to change his mind. She’d told them she was in the family way.”
“When she could not change his mind, they think he…” Amelie could not finish. To say she had been thrown for a loop with Caroline’s story was an understatement. She did not know Roman well enough to pass judgment, but suppose the heir who was not the marrying kind had believed his girlfriend pregnant?
Caroline waved her hand in dismissal. “It is complete nonsense. Master Cardiff would have done right by her if she’d told him the truth.”
Love Entwined Page 6