“She said that?” Roman glanced at his cousin.
“That is what Lisa told her when you two broke up.”
Roman stopped packing. “Lisa who?”
“Ah!” Dylan wagged a triumphant finger at him. “Maddy’s point exactly.”
“Do me a favor, will you? Remind me to keep your wife out of my affairs if that is at all possible.”
Dylan became serious. “You ‘think’ you love her.”
“I do love her. I thought she loved me, until she left. We…we have so much in common.”
“Well, there is rather a lot of thinking going on, isn’t there? I thought you artistic types were very good at expressing yourselves.”
He resumed his packing. “I haven’t been able to reach her. I’ll be on the afternoon flight to New York.”
“I will finish up with the recruiters, you go get the girl. There will be a car waiting out front to take you to the airport. Oh, a letter arrived for you this morning, it’s on the desk.” Dylan took his leave.
Roman crossed to the writing desk and picked up the envelope. When he saw it was postmarked London he swallowed his disappointment. It was probably work-related. He opened the letter to find a single white sheet of paper with a typed message.
I AM HER BETHROTHED
His brows furrowed in disbelief when he saw the signature below. It was signed “The Marquess of Alsborough.”
* * * *
New York City – May 14, 1988
Amelie had decided not to go home to her parents in France. They would only ask her what happened and she did not know if she could get through an explanation without crying. They would find out soon enough when she told them the project in England wrapped early. That would be her official excuse, but her mother would know it for what it was. She’d run away from Roman.
She didn’t know how she was going to live without him, but she could not marry him. He was not free, and somehow because of her, he was in danger.
Maybe the killer would leave him alone and come after her. She must never see Roman again and her parents must stay in France until this was all over. They were all better off distancing themselves from her.
She called the office to let Harold know she was coming in. He had started asking her questions about the collection, wanting samples and sketches. She had rushed him off the phone without answering, promising to see him later in the day.
It was better to go to work and keep busy. If she stayed home, she would cry all day, as she had done all night, and that would only make her head hurt more. With the demands at work, she would not have time to think about how miserable she was and would be from now on, for the rest of her life.
She convinced herself she was fine to start back to work. Her hair was knotted into a bun and she wore the gray suit and white silk blouse like armor. The suit almost had her believing she would get through the coming days, business as usual, with no time to think of Roman.
It was lunchtime at Penrods. She was able to sneak in with little notice.
She walked through the maze of cubicles where some employees ate at their desks. At least she wouldn’t have to pass Harold’s office at the other end of the floor. She wasn’t ready to deal with him yet.
She went straight into her office and shut the door.
It was just as she had left it. There was a box on the desk filled with her drawings. Charcoal and mechanical pencils lined up on her drafting table. Everything was in its place, but nothing at all was the same.
She had changed. This room was no longer the comforting, creative environment it had always been to her.
She had virtually lived in this room for the last two years, but her heart was no longer here, among the designs in this sterile, white-walled office. There was no thick Aubusson carpet here in elegant blue and gold swirls to sit on before a cozy fire.
Khan…she had left without saying goodbye to the lovable giant.
She turned in a circle in the orderly workspace. It was not the immaculate office that went against the grain; it was the control evident in every neat pile. Everything she had ever done had been so damned controlled.
What had happened to the girl who frolicked in the Seine in her underwear? She thought. Jacqueline would never have run from her capitaine.
She shook off a wild impulse to rip around the office in a wrecking dervish.
Roman had her from the first; she had hardly been human when she met him.
The dreams began her transformation, and Roman had completed it.
This room would never hold what she needed most. There was no love here, no laughter and since her dreams had become reality, she was painfully aware this room didn’t look like fun anymore.
Roman was the earth her roots had grown into. She felt as though she had been ripped away from his warmth.
She looked at the empty glass vase on the coffee table. She should have bought roses on her way in, but she had forgotten. She never forgot anything; between her lists, day-planners and recorded messages to self, her system was fail-safe.
The oversight made her burst into tears. Roman would have been proud of her for showing this human trait of emotion.
She swiped a tissue from the box on her desk and rummaged in her purse for a mirror.
“Well, it is true. You have returned to us,” came from the doorway.
She dabbed at her face with the tissue before turning toward the door. “What do you want, Dora?”
Dora closed the office door and leaned against it, giving her a shrewd look. “Who are you? Certainly not the Amelie who left New York three months ago. I just wanted to hear about your project. Did everything go okay?” Dora walked into the office. “Something is wrong. Amelie, I am your friend. You know you can talk to me.”
“You have never been my friend, Dora. Is there something I can do for you, or isn’t the Sweet Life project keeping you busy enough?”
“Actually, it is going very well. The Sweet Life executives love my designs. Production will start soon. Nigel and his team have worked around the clock to get this show on the road.”
Amelie took Dora’s arm and ushered her out of the office. “How wonderful for you. Now if you will excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
She shut the door.
* * * *
“You left the designs with Cardiff?” Harold’s ballpoint pen hovered over the letter he was signing.
Amelie pursed her lips to keep from laughing at his bewildered expression behind the horn-rimmed spectacles. His red bowtie with white polka dots was just big enough to make him look like part of a circus troop. Her capitaine would have called him a dandy.
Maybe she was going a little crazy. She had a right, after all. Not only was she Roman’s lover in a past life, but she was also the evil High Priestess who most certainly had ordered enough people to death that death had followed her into this century to return the favor. It was what she deserved.
If Harold ever heard this tale, he would see to it she was put away somewhere comfy in a straight jacket where she could not hurt herself.
It was insult added to injury when she thought about the designs she had left in England along with her heart. Three months in England and she had nothing to show for it. Harold must think she had been on holiday.
She suppressed a giggle.
“Mr. Cardiff and I collaborated on many designs. I have enough now to work from my office, so I decided to come back.”
Good answer, Amelie!
She put a proverbial checkmark on her game card.
“And he was okay with that?” Harold asked as he finished signing the letter.
“Oh, he’s fine with it, il est d’accord.”
Harold stared at her over his horn-rimmed eyeglasses.
Too late, she realized her reply was a tad too bright. And, she had lapsed into French. Harold would know that was a clear indication she was upset.
She turned before he could say anything. She went back into her office and sat down at the d
esk with her head in her hands. She had really botched that up.
Could things get any worse? She sighed in resignation.
As she was wont to do in times of stress—or any time, really, she thought disgustedly—she immersed herself in work.
She began working on a copy of the ruby and emerald set she and Roman had designed for what they were calling the Renaissance collection. She knew the fluid lines of the necklace and the earrings by heart. She had to show Harold something, or he would get suspicious.
She started etching the grainy texture of the necklace. The pencil in her hand flew over the paper at the thought Harold would probably call Roman for another version of the story.
Roman would know she was back in New York, but he was in Germany on business. He would not leave his meetings to follow her to New York.
She scolded herself for the smile threatening to turn her frown upside down. She had left him after all. She had made a decision, hadn’t she?
Chapter 9
New York City – May 14, 1988
The Lear Jet landed at JFK Airport at two o’clock in the afternoon.
Roman stepped onto the tarmac and walked swiftly into the terminal.
Dylan would thank him in the end for leaving Koblenz. He could not think about anything besides Amelie. He had tried her apartment number and kept getting her answering machine. He had called Penrods and repeatedly listened to her husky French accent on voicemail, but did not leave a message.
He still had no idea why she had left Yorkshire and he wasn’t sure if she would take his call, but it was clear now that he was not the only one with a target on the back. There was someone out there who wanted Amelie. He just hoped that someone was human and would succumb to a bullet.
He had not been able to get a signal on the cell for some time now and had to wait to check his messages.
“Hello, Terrence.” He handed the chauffeur his bags and got into the back of the limo.
“It is good to see you again, sir. What brings you to the Big Apple?”
“I am looking for someone I lost.” Roman stared at the phone, waiting for a signal on the cell.
Terrence laughed. “Well, New York is as good a place as any to look. You know, my band is playing tonight at the jazz club you should come. Bring your lady friend.”
“I’ll do that, if I find her.” He wondered if Amelie liked jazz.
“Oh you will,” Terrence chuckled. “The ladies can’t resist Roman Cardiff.”
* * * *
“Hello Roman, Harold Jarvis here. I called your London office earlier but they said you were out of town. I just wanted to check in with you, and see how things were going.”
Roman stopped himself before blurting out his concern. “Things are going well, Harold.”
If Amelie was not in New York, Jarvis might not know she had left England. She had to be here. Amelie would want to keep busy, workaholic that she was, and she wasn’t the type to run home to her mother. No, she would tough it out in New York, get back to her routine and pretend that she was fine and everything was okay.
But she was not okay, and neither was he.
“Roman, I hope you are happy with the designs?”
“Yes, indeed, Amelie is what this collection needs,” Roman said.
“I hear she left the designs with you.”
Roman exhaled a breath of relief to know she was in town. “Right, I wanted to fine tune some of them. Harold, is she in the office today?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact she is. Do you want to speak with her?”
“Great. Ah, no, I’m in New York. I’m on my way there. I have a few of the designs in my briefcase I can show you. I should be there in about a half hour.”
* * * *
“Amelie, look who has come to visit. May we come in?” Harold stood just inside the door.
Roman came in, towering above Harold, and handsome as ever in a tailored navy blue suit.
Amelie just stared at him. He was the light casting out the darkness in her heart. The room seemed too small to contain her roiling emotions.
He turned toward her desk, and his eyes softened at the sight of her. “Amelie, how are you?”
It had only been a few days and she missed his deep English, a soothing balm for her soul. She cleared her throat. “Roman. I am fine. How are you?”
She did not know what else to say. She had always been transparent, even to her own ears her voice sounded stilted.
He had come for her. The adorable forelock hung over his forehead. She almost lifted her hand to touch it this far across the room.
“After you left I had some questions. I was hoping you could shed some light on a few things. Do you have time now?”
“Yes, of course.” She got up from the chair, falling into an old habit. All business once again, she came to stand by them with the sketchpad. “I was just finishing up the emerald set.”
“Roman showed me the rest of the designs. They are stunning.” Harold smiled at one and then the other. “You two are quite the team, eh?”
“Yes, we are.” Roman gazed at her in the ensuing silence charged with the hope that Harold would notice three was a crowd.
She fidgeted with her sketchpad. Her nerves shot, she was on the verge of tears now that Roman stood before her. She adamantly wished someone would say something.
“Well, I’ll let you two get on with it.” Harold smiled and closed the door on his way out.
“Why?”
There was so much pain in that one word, and it stung her to know that she was the cause of it.
Mon Dieu, he does love me.
This influential man, the heir to a dynasty, wore a stricken expression that was a match for the way she felt. He needed her as much as she needed him.
She turned toward the Manhattan skyline. “I had to leave,”
Roman turned her around and took her in his arms. “I was so worried about you. Tell me what is wrong. What happened?”
She stood rigid, ignoring the comforting circle of his strong arms around her and the woodsy scent of the cologne on his lapel. It reminded her of the wilds of Yorkshire. “I happened. My life. My lives. My existence is a threat to you.”
He held her at arm’s length. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Yes, exactly. In hell’s name, I am talking about evil. I am and always will be.”
“Listen to me.” Roman shook her. “You are not evil.”
She clung to him and let the tears fall.
The office door opened and Harold walked in. “Sushi? We ordered in.” His smile faded as Amelie’s shoulders shook with each ragged sob. “Amelie?” She quieted and Roman dried her tears. He glanced at Harold. “Sounds good, Harold, but we’re going out for lunch, thank you.”
Harold wavered by the door, squinting in confusion. “All right. We’ll, ah, talk later then.” He closed the door behind him.
Roman took her by the hand. “Let’s go.” He walked her out of the office building and straight to the limo.
“You found her.” The chauffeur greeted them at the curb.
“Terrence, this is Amelie.”
“It is a pleasure, my fair lady,” Terrence gave her a gallant bow.
“How do you do, Terrence?” She attempted to smile at the cocoa-colored young man in his sharp black suit, but shook his hand instead.
“Do you like jazz?” Terrence asked.
“I love jazz.”
The chauffeur grinned at Roman, who chuckled. “Madison Avenue Towers.”
They had complete privacy in the back of the limo with the partition closed. Though they did not speak on the drive to her apartment, she was acutely aware of him.
He let her sit by the window with two feet of space between them on the seat. Mercifully, he kept his hands on his knees. If he touched her she might start her crying again. He was staring at her lips, and she wished Terrence drove like James.
At home, she turned on lamps on her way to the bedroom. When she retur
ned in her stocking feet, Roman was in the kitchen. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. She was content to watch him open a bottle of white wine. She’d thought it was over between them, but he was here. There was so much to say and now she felt foolish for running off the way she had.
“Come, sit with me.” He led the way to the living room.
She sat on the red leather couch overlooking a verdant Central Park. It was still bright at five o’clock in the afternoon on a typical New York spring day.
He placed the glass of wine in her hands and sat down next to her, arching a brow when she drank the entire glass.
She tucked her feet underneath her and stared into the wineglass, not sure where to begin. He took several sips from his glass and then loosened his tie, all the while watching her. She loved his patience and wished she had it. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Someone wants you dead.”
He had that damned inscrutable expression on his face and she could not tell what he was thinking.
“I would not doubt it. I am known to be very bull-headed on occasion.” He took the glass from her shaking hands and set it on the coffee table along with his. “Amelie, how do you know this?”
“Maybe a girlfriend?” She picked up the paper from the coffee table and thrust it at him.
His expression turned stony as he read the one line message. He balled the paper in his fist. “I am sorry you had to find out this way.”
Fury stood her upright. “Monsieur, are you sorry I had to find out about your girlfriends?”
He rubbed his thick brows. “Sit down, Amelie.”
His discordant tone doused her anger and made her obey. It was not the contrite pitch of the guilty; his was a quiet fury. She waited, but now he was the one without words.
“Constance was…” He started over. “I could not give Constance what she wanted, but I would have taken care of the child. And then someone took it out of both of our hands. There was no proof, but I blamed the Garamondes.”
“But it was not them. There is someone else, Roman.” She took a deep breath, gearing up for the question to which she was certain the answer would kill her. But she had to ask. “Is there another woman?”
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