by Mary Buckham
"Yes?"
"And it would be only natural that you might seek the protection of the man whom you think could help you should you need help."
"The major?"
The king leaned forward. "It would be an incorrect assumption, Miss Richards. For I am the most powerful man in Vendari."
Well, the man certainly didn't lack for ego.
"The major operates from a rather traditional perspective. He tends to think as a warrior, one from the old school."
"Meaning?"
"It would be in your best interests to choose the man who could truly help you should you need it."
"And that means you?"
"A man in my position can dispense favors to those who please him. For those who displease him—" He waved his hand again, a diamond ring winking in the candlelight. "I reward those who deserve rewards. For the rest, they are as nothing."
The room grew cooler. "Meaning?"
"If you do not do your duty, then the major has failed in his. He will not have kept me happy and relations between our countries cordial. He thus would become a liability." The earlier uneasiness in Jane's stomach congealed into a lump of cold, hard fear. "Vendari can become a very dangerous place for those who displease me."
As if it wasn't already, she wanted to point out, but instead decided to make sure she understood, perfectly, what the king was implying. "Are you saying that by continuing in this … mission, that I will be protecting the major's role in Vendari?"
"Yes."
"But if I don't, what then? He will be fired? Asked to leave Vendari?"
The king picked his teeth with his pinky before replying. "Or he could meet with an accident. All too common, I'm afraid."
"And my country would not protest the life of one of their conduits?"
"They would protest. I would send my regrets. We would start our political dance again. It is life."
"And why should I worry about the life of a man who is using me?" She knew the question sounded legitimate, especially to a man like Tarkioff, who appeared to have no scruples whatsoever.
"A very good point." He lifted her hand to his lips, keeping his gaze on hers as if watching for a reaction. She refused to give him one, no matter how hard it was to sit there, calmly and coolly, while a snake touched her. "But I have seen women taken in by him before."
"By Major McConneghy?"
"Yes. His charm is a tool he uses and uses well."
First McConneghy had lied to her, telling her he'd protect her when all along he'd been using her as bait. And now, now to discover that those looks, those heated, soul-scorching looks he'd given her were only more lies. He'd played her like a master. How easily she'd responded to him, believed he cared, even when he'd warned her not to trust him most of all.
"So you are warning me not to be deceived by the major? To follow his directions, but not to trust him."
"You are very perceptive."
If only he knew. But the night's revelations were already too heavy to bear without admitting how naive, how truly gullible she'd been. And here she'd thought she was changing, growing as a woman, learning to assert herself, and it had all been a lie. She was still the small-town librarian with the experience of a gnat in the relationship department after all.
"So you see, Miss Richards, it is important you realize the dangerous game you've been involved in. And who can truly help you."
"I thank you for your advice, Your Highness."
Too little, too late, she wanted to add, but was interrupted by another voice.
"It sounds as if I have missed a very illuminating conversation."
The words came from the doorway, hard and razor-sharp. Jane wanted to pull her hand from the king's grasp, to turn toward where she knew McConneghy stood, looking no doubt lethal and in control at the same time.
But she felt too raw, too wounded to expose her expression to him. A man she'd come to trust too quickly, to depend upon too easily.
What a fool she'd been.
But not anymore.
Lucius relaxed his shoulders, muscle by muscle. A trait he'd found useful on long stakeouts and in tight situations, but it did nothing for the churning in his gut. Jealousy, green-tinged and soul deep. He wanted to tear Tarkioff limb from limb and the longer he held Jane Richards's hand the greater the need grew.
Not that she minded it in the least. She hadn't even turned to glance at him since he'd interrupted their little tête-à-tête. And here he had rushed through the debriefing of his team to get back to her, worried that she might be at a loss, might be bothered by being alone too long.
He was thinking like a fool. A damn fool.
"I'm not interrupting anything?" He knew his words sounded hoarse and jagged and still she didn't turn to look at him. But she didn't have to, not in this room, with its walls of mirrors, each one of them searing her image on his soul, as if it wasn't already there.
She looked pale, too pale, but then she'd looked that way often over the last days, as if the strain was catching up with her. But now there was a bleakness about her eyes, the ones she kept downcast, hidden from him. Even as Tarkioff hovered over her like a hawk scenting prey. The man had a smug expression on his face, a calculating look that told Lucius he should have arrived earlier.
"You are finished with your meeting, Major." It sounded casual enough, but Lucius hadn't been born yesterday. "You've completed all the important things advisors must complete."
"It appears that this meeting was more important." He crossed into the room, noting Jane's imperceptible flinch. One that rocked him deeper than he'd ever thought possible.
The king relinquished Jane's hand, which she quickly slid to her lap. A sure sign of agitation. "We were just discussing you. You and the dangerous games a man in your position plays."
Games within games, he thought as he stepped closer to where Jane sat, keeping her gaze averted, as if she were memorizing the thread count in the tablecloth.
"By all means feel free to continue your conversation." He spoke to both of them but kept his gaze locked on only one. "It sounded very educational."
She looked at him then, not directly but through the mirror across from them, the one that threw two images back; him like a dark shadow over her shoulder and her—like a child deceived. The realization dazed him: him of the nerves of steel, the cold control necessary to do his job, no matter what the cost. And yet with one indirect look she shook him, made him hesitate, unsure of just what had put that look there.
"Elena," he said the name automatically and saw her recoil from it, from him. Without thought he extended his hand, meaning to reassure with a touch when he didn't seem able to with words, but she rose to her feet, so fast she knocked the chair over with the movement.
"I … I … good night."
She sounded desperate, frantic to leave. What in the heck had happened while he'd been away?
"I'll escort you to your room."
"No." She looked at him then, her expression warding him off as much as the near panic in her tone. "I can find my own way. I don't need your help."
I don't need you.
"I think it'd be best if I—"
"Good night." She was gone before he could stop her.
He waited until he heard the sound of her shoes clicking across the marble floors die away before he rounded on Tarkioff.
"I don't know what you said here tonight, but I warned you once that she will not be hurt."
"My dear Major—"
"I won't warn you again." He turned on his heel, knowing he'd learn nothing from Tarkioff, not trusting himself to be in the same room with the man much longer.
He caught up with Jane before she'd reached the far wing of the palace.
"Wait up."
Either she didn't hear him or chose to ignore him.
"Damn it, I said wait." This was not the place to talk, not when there were servants nearby who could hear them.
He laid a hand upon her arm to slow her down, pleased he
managed restraint, angered when she shrugged it off.
"I know the way." Her words sounded as brittle as his.
He held the oath threatening to escape. Aware it was another measure of how this woman had burrowed beneath his defenses. His control had been razor-thin ever since the event at the pool, when, distracted by her, he'd allowed himself to be caught off guard. A mistake he wouldn't let happen again. But one look at her tonight and he knew his tenuous grasp on his emotions was slipping. Again.
When they reached her room he'd find out exactly what was going on.
But she had her own agenda once they arrived at her closed door. One that had him wondering how he could want to shake a woman at the same time as admire her.
"Good night, Major." She used her prissy librarian tone. A defense mechanism as good as any he'd ever witnessed.
"We're going to talk."
"No." Her look had him wanting to wrap her in his arms and tell her it'd be okay. As soon as he figured out why it was there. He had no doubt who had put it there—Tarkioff. But knowing the king, it could be for a dozen different reasons. Trying to detect the right one was like looking for a bomb in the dark.
"Listen, I know it's been a long day. Having dinner alone with Tarkioff probably didn't make it any easier." Her expression remained a mixture of condemnation and hurt. But damn if he knew how to take away either. "If it's any consolation I'll make sure eating with Tarkioff alone won't happen again."
"It's not."
"What's that mean?"
"As you said, it was a very illuminating dinner." He thought he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She was killing him by the minute. "Now it's late and I'm tired. Good night."
She turned from him and it took all his years of training to let her close the door in his face.
He'd promised to protect her and so he would. Tomorrow they would talk. Tonight he'd find out just what Tarkioff had said to her. Tonight he'd walk away.
But not tomorrow.
Chapter 7
« ^ »
It took every ounce of willpower Jane possessed to dress herself in Elena's clothes the next day. Where before they gave her a sense of strength and power, now they mocked her. How could she ever have thought of herself as strong enough to deal with men like McConneghy and Tarkioff? She was so far out of her league it was pathetic.
And that hurt. Humiliation upon humiliation, a little like dousing an open wound in vinegar. How could she have blindly trusted a man, believed he was helping and protecting her when all the signs said just the opposite?
Well maybe not all the signs, she had to admit, brushing her hair with absentminded strokes. He had been truthful with her in telling her she was at risk from the first. But he'd neglected to tell her the whole truth and from whom she was at risk. And when he'd warned her against trusting him, he'd neglected to mention that he'd be doing everything within his power to make her trust him.
And that's what really hurt. That she had fallen for the
small gestures of kindness; the way he would offer his arm for support before she had to face strangers, the way he made sure she could meet the little people instead of remain isolated, even the way he would nag at her to eat more, as if he cared that she kept up her strength. When all along he was using her, playing her for a fool and setting her up to be a target. Could she be any more naive?
Walking down to the breakfast room like a condemned prisoner taking her last trip, she debated options, discarding one after another. There was no way she could continue to act like the fool she'd been. Nor did it make sense to confront him with what she'd learned. He'd only twist it around, try and soothe when there was no balm for betrayal.
The only thing that made sense was to truly become a stronger, less dependent woman, who, though she might not have a lot of experience in the world in which she now was, still could protect herself. She could be cool. Aloof. Trusting neither McConneghy nor Tarkioff. It made sense, as much as anything had since she'd woken up in that small cramped room.
With a silent prayer for strength she stepped into the dining room, not surprised to see McConneghy already there, not surprised to feel the intensity of his gaze on her. He looked as he always looked: calm, cool and in control.
She cleared her throat and steeled herself. If she could get through the next minutes she could get through anything.
Slipping into a chair, she reached for a cup of fresh-squeezed orange juice, sure it was going to taste like grains of sand sliding down her dry throat.
"Would you like a croissant?" His question sounded calm enough, but she could hear the strain beneath every syllable.
"No, thank you."
"Some eggs and bacon?"
"No."
"Some toast?"
"No."
"You've—"
She speared him with a glance. One she knew could scorch. "I'm not hungry."
"You've got to eat."
"I'm a grown woman. I'll eat when I'm hungry and I'll make that decision. Is that clear?"
He considered her words and her, his gaze steady and penetrating. She told herself not to waver or shatter beneath its force, no matter how hard it was to hold out against it.
"All right," he said at last, though she doubted they were through the worst of it. Yet. His next words proved her right. "Then if you won't eat we'll talk."
Instead of responding directly she stood, folding her cloth napkin and laying it upon the table with cool restraint. "If I recall correctly today's schedule is fairly full. I think it's better if we get on our way."
She watched his brows arch, the lines around his mouth deepen. His voice, though, was calm. Almost too calm. "We'll leave after we talk."
"Why the sudden urge to chat, Major?" If she didn't know better she'd say she was getting into the swing of being sharp and snippy. "You've been downright sullen for days and now you want to talk?"
"Sullen?"
"Sullen. And rude."
She was beginning to feel like a child trading barbs over the back fence. Until he changed tactics on her.
"What did he say to you last night?"
She could have sworn she heard frustration, or maybe regret, then dismissed it. Any compassion on her part was pure foolishness. Hadn't she learned that this man would only use it against her? "Are you talking about the king?"
"You know darn good and well I am." Emotion undercoated each word.
She glanced at her watch, sure her legs would buckle at any minute. Confrontation was not in her vocabulary and here she was, sparring with a man who made life-and-death decisions all the time. A man with years of experience of heading straight into confrontations, eyes open. He probably even liked doing it.
She held her ground. "Let's say my conversation last night was on a need-to-know basis."
If the man's gaze became any more glacial she'd be suffering from frostbite.
"Need-to-know basis?"
"Yes, need to know. You understand that concept." She splayed her lingers on the table for support more than drama, surprised he couldn't see clear through her bluff. "You've called the shots thus far, Major, and I tagged along. I had little choice. But things have changed."
Lucius slowly and deliberately placed his own napkin on the table, pleased he had not shredded it before he rose to his feet. He watched Jane's eyes widen, but remain steady on his. Whatever had gone on last night, it had had at least one effect; the woman he'd thought of as vulnerable, needy and unaware of her own power was metamorphosing before his eyes. He wasn't sure if he wanted to shout hallelujah or lower the boom.
"You think things have changed." He kept each word evenly spaced as he leaned forward to meet her belligerent stance. A move that placed him in a position to smell the warmth of her skin, count the scattered freckles across her nose, and notice the intensity of arousal in her eyes. Damn, if that image wouldn't keep him awake through another long night.
"They have changed. You're not the only one who can dictate orders around here."
"Care to make a bet on that?"
Indecision flickered in her gaze, as if she'd backed herself into a corner without a clue how to get out.
"I don't have to make a bet." That prissy tone again. He must be masochistic to be aroused by it. "I can and will take care of myself. No more meekly following your orders while you set me up as a pigeon."
Now they were getting to the real issue.
"You knew what you were getting into before you ever landed on Vendari." Or at least as much as she needed to know, he amended silently.
"Not quite. I think you left a few details out."
"What are you talking about?"
"Never mind." She backed away, standing stiff and straight, her hands fiddling with the folds of her dress, her eyes wary once again. "I believe it's time to leave."
"Not until you get one thing straight here."
"And what would that be?"
Damn if he didn't want to haul her up against him and kiss that upper-crust, straitlaced superiority off her lips. Instead he lowered his voice, surprised she didn't flinch from it.
"While in Vendari, you're my responsibility. Mine alone. And if you want to get out of this place in one piece you will follow my orders to the letter."
"Oh?" He thought she meant it to be belligerent, but it came out too breathless for that.
"You're not in Kansas anymore, Jane."
"I never was." She gave him a look that could slay dragons. "And if you remember correctly, I'm from South Dakota, not Kansas."
He remembered, he thought, as she walked away in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and swishing silk. He remembered only too well.
The woman was going to be the death of him yet.
Jane watched the soft greens of Vendari slip past the limo's windows, surprised the chill from inside the car wasn't withering everything in sight. McConneghy sat across from her, his long legs stretched in front of him, dominating the space, his expression as friendly as a shark waiting for dinner.
Was it only a few days ago she'd thought they'd progressed to having a friendly relationship? It was amazing what a few days could do.
She caught her fingers folding and unfolding the cream-colored silk of her skirt and stopped, but not before she noted McConneghy's attention on her hands. That and the flash of a smugly superior smile.