Love Entwined (7 page)

She sighed, looking around the drafting room.

He was in the London office today and she was relieved to have the time alone. This sexual tension between them was not only frightening, but it was wearing her down. Her nerves frayed and she’d had no time to process his appearance in her life.

The fact that the dreams had stopped did not make her feel any better. She had not had one dream since she met Roman.

It was clear he had replaced the dreams.

Stop this.

She moved to the crates of supplies. She would use the time alone to get organized. When she looked over Roman’s equipment, she saw that most of hers was duplication. He had been right; everything she needed was already here. He was quite the designer himself. Real work was done in this drafting room. However, it gave her a sense of security to know she had her own things with her, equipment she was used to working with.

She twisted her hair up in a topknot and spread out several glossy portfolios of the current Cardiff collection on the drafting table. Rubbing the mechanical pencil between thumb and forefinger, she thought of what jewelry she would die to wear with a strapless evening gown.

Doodling in a corner of the drawing pad, she was soon engrossed in curlicues and flourishes reminiscent of a golden age.

Several hours later, she put the drafting pencil down and took a snack from the tea tray in the corner. When she returned to the drafting table, she put the scone down.

The name Jacqueline was written in a beautifully rounded cursive hand high up in the corner of the page. She must have written it, but it was not her handwriting. Jacqueline was the name her
capitaine
had called her in the dreams.

She shook her head at the pad. He was not her
capitaine
and she was not his Jacqueline.

She had been under a lot of stress at work; this must be a by-product. She would be fine in a few days here in the country, away from the constant pressure of Penrods.

Amelie pushed the name written on the drawing pad from her mind and flipped the page over. Soon, she was deep in concentration on another sketch.

North Yorkshire, England – March 1988

The first week of March whittled away at winter’s stronghold. Roman insisted they take the weekends off and would not allow her near the drafting room. Her first full weekend in Yorkshire, they walked among the ruins of Scarborough Castle on the headlands.

Amelie looked past the limestone cliffs toward the North Sea. “I wish I’d brought my drawing pad.”

He produced a digital camera from his jacket pocket. “Will this do?”

She grinned at him and then worried her bottom lip with her teeth while pushing sensors on the high-tech model.

He followed her through the courtyard while she snapped pictures. “For centuries, this castle was the site of the Scarborough Fair. Cardiff sea captains were among the merchants.”

“You come from a very old family here in town, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “There are families here who can trace their lineage back to William the Conqueror.”

“Modesty; a nice surprise,” she said with a straight face as she snapped photos. She could not wait on his unhurried steps and walked ahead on the uneven cobblestones. She lifted her face to the sky and spreading her arms wide, took in a deep breath of salt-scented sea air. “I can imagine the marketplace alive with the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon and cooked hams for sale.”

“And brilliant bolts of silk from India lined up on tables, the merchants calling out their wares and tales of miracle cures,” he said.

She turned, staring at him. “
Oui
, you see it, too,” she whispered, giving him a slow nod of approval.

Taking a step forward, he glanced over her head and she turned around to see what had caught his interest. Long, auburn locks waved in the wind, moving quickly through a stone archway.

Without a word, they hurried after the woman through the archway, and stopped short.

They were standing in a small courtyard, alone. The woman was gone.

Roman strode over to the only door on this side of the stone wall. Even though there was a sign posted NO ADMITTANCE, he tried the door.

Amelie exhaled when the door would not open. “I thought I saw…her.”

Roman turned toward her. “…someone,” he corrected, and then chuckled. “You should see your face right now, standing here in this deserted courtyard looking for…”

She folded her arms. “What were we looking for Roman?”

“Absolutely nothing. No one,” he said emphatically and took her hand. “Come on then, back to the present.” He led her out the way they had come and away from the castle and Scarborough fairs of the past.

On the way home, they drove through the town of Scarborough, which soon gave way to a scenic drive through the moors. The sun broke through the clouds, dappling the heather and bracken.

He stopped the Porsche once as a herd of sheep passed by on the roadway. He laughed when she craned her neck out of the car window with the digital camera. The herder raised his bell and clanged the signal for the sheep to cross the road. It was one of those moments, the city girl in her taken back to a time when people respected the land, and there was no such thing as a New York City skyscraper. The feeling intensified when the Porsche crested a hill and she saw a beautiful old church.

“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.

“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.