Blackmailed Bride. Sylvie Kurtz

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СКАЧАТЬ He turned swiftly into the small room adjoining the living room, plucked the registration card for bidder 168 from the Secretary’s desk and strode through to the door at the opposite end.

      The rumors, of course. Alana had threatened to leak the less than idyllic state of their marriage to knowing ears, but she’d been drunk when he’d found her sprawled with the papers—drunk and vindictive. She’d vowed he’d suffer for the isolation she’d been forced to endure. The deal she’d outlined had shades of Satan all over it. He’d wanted to strangle her. In the end, he’d accepted. A little humiliation was nothing compared to the good his research could yield. Had she whispered her secrets out of spite to her cousin Geoffrey, realizing he’d have a keen interest in the outcome?

      Jonas ripped open the door in his path.

      “Jonas!” He nearly bumped into David Forester, his assistant, who carefully cradled the Aidan Heart in both his hands. “What do you want me to do with this?”

      He handed David a key. “Put it in the cellar with the rest of the paperweights. In the safe.”

      Without waiting for a response, Jonas forged ahead in the corridor, and let the door slam behind him. His butler and the old man weren’t far behind, but he’d reach the library before they did.

      Ah, dear Alana! She’d kept at him and kept at him with her barbs and her threats—until he’d exploded.

      Now she was missing. Had been for four and a half weeks. And it wasn’t like her to leave without a scene. Something wasn’t right, but the investigator he’d hired had uncovered nothing. It was as if she’d vanished.

      Purposefully or not, she’d conveniently left him with a suspicious lawyer to appease and no devoted wife to prove his wedded bliss. He didn’t like being backed into a corner. And he surely didn’t like the thoughts poisoning his mind—thoughts he wouldn’t normally entertain. But images of the woman sitting at the auction floated back to him.

      She could help him.

      He turned a corner, feeling as if the walls of the home he loved so much were closing in on him, and pushed open the library door.

      She’d had a glow about her that had caught his attention. He’d admired her catlike grace and the self-assurance with which she moved. His attraction to her had been immediate and powerful. A fact Jonas found both intriguing and disconcerting. History repeating itself? How long had it been since he’d allowed a pretty face to turn his head? And what price had he paid?

      He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

      Jonas blazed on a light and marched to the fireplace. He threw a log in and watched the sparks fly up like angry bees disturbed from their nest. He’d found her glowing face refreshing after the blasé cynicism he’d grown used to. Her light brown hair with its luxuriant profusion had him thinking of sex, hot and wild. The way the glossy strands caught the fire’s light and reflected gold, he’d wanted to reach out and bury his hand in her hair to harvest the sheer life it exuded. He shook his head to dispel her image. He had to stay in control.

      He banged a fist against the mantel, punctuating his determination. But she came back, her image haunting him in the erratic dance of flames in a way he didn’t like.

      Massaging the back of his neck with both hands, he saw her eyes again. They were the most beautiful he’d ever seen—brown that shifted to topaz, reminding him of his mother’s tiger’s-eye pendant. Yes, she vibrated with life, and he’d almost forgotten that feeling, dead as he’d been inside for so many years.

      Jonas raked a hand through his hair to clear the sensual cobwebs weaving themselves into his brain, and headed for the silent butler by the sitting area. He plucked ice cubes from a bucket and dropped them into a glass.

      When she’d turned and looked at him as she took her place at the auction, his whole body had tensed. At first he thought his impression had been a trick of the light, a quirk of his troubled mind, a ghost from his guilty conscience. But the similarities of her face to Alana’s grew over the differences, bringing with them a host of emotions he didn’t want to feel. Anger, betrayal—even hatred.

      He poured whiskey over the ice and listened to the cubes crackle and pop.

      Sterling’s arrival for the signing over of the trust had only compounded the feeling of powerlessness that had slowly enveloped him since Alana’s untimely disappearance. A feeling he’d felt only once before in his life and had sworn he’d never allow again.

      He brought the glass to his lips, then slammed it down on the cart once more. Damn his blasted temper for getting him into this situation in the first place! He refused to lose a life’s worth of work over one ill-timed flash of anger.

      As he slugged back a swallow, the pale amber liquid burned his throat. It rested in a fiery ball in his empty stomach, mixing with acid, bringing a caustic squall to life.

      He’d watched the way the woman had sat up straight, then leaned forward with anticipation when the Aidan Heart had been raised to the block. The way she’d held her breath, waiting for the opening bid. The way she’d scanned the room, spotting each bidder and assessing them. They way the fear and hope had mixed, bringing her desire to the foreground. And when she’d turned desperate, an uncanny feeling of déjà vu had swept through him. That’s when the mad idea had formed in his mind and wouldn’t let go.

      Sterling’s early arrival had served to imprint the idea further. The woman’s cry of outrage as David had placed the winning bid repeated in the chambers of his mind like a ghost’s tormented lament. He didn’t like resorting to a ruse, but he’d make it worth her while.

      His future, his life, and those of his siblings, depended on it.

      He picked up the bidder’s registration card and studied it. Cathlynn O’Connell. An antiques dealer from Nashua. For now, he’d let her cool her heels. Then they’d talk. If he’d read her right, the bait he’d dangle would be irresistible to this tiger hiding in a sleek cat’s skin.

      They’d both get what they wanted.

      The idea was so crazy, it might actually work.

      CATHLYNN TOOK a few minutes to compose herself, but the raw fury refused to be tamed. She tromped down the hall where she’d heard the voices floating. The farther down she went, the darker and colder the atmosphere got. Soundless shapes reached out for her, then retracted into their dark crevices along the walls and ceilings. Tall candles protected by brass-trimmed sconces hung unlit, question marks along her path. Didn’t Jonas Shades believe in electricity? Maybe his cash-flow problems were as bad as the old lady had insinuated. That would serve him right, after he’d stolen her treasure from under her. Cathlynn snorted silently. He’d snuck away before she could face him with a counteroffer. Now she’d get her chance to face him, and he’d bear the full brunt of her disappointment.

      Trailing her hand along the cold stone wall, she moved cautiously on the faded red runner. The stones seemed to come alive beneath her fingers, undulating mute portents into the marrow of her bones.

      Beware. The warning pulsed directly into her brain. Her head snapped back to see who stood behind her. Nothing but the entry’s heatless light met her gaze.

      Shaking her head to dismiss the creeps crawling over her skin, she followed the sound of muffled voices. She turned back every now and then to make sure she wasn’t being followed, unable to quite shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She passed several more СКАЧАТЬ