“Why do you live here then? Is there a reason you can’t go back?” She couldn’t resist studying him more closely as she sipped her tea. She realized that he was dressed differently now than when they’d kissed at the public reception. He now wore dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt. He must have gone to Belishaw’s house to change into his thief clothes. She’d imagined thieves ran around in all black with ski masks. But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life, and he’d clearly gotten away with the robbery justfine.
“I made a mistake a long time ago, and my father exiled me. Eventually, I stayed here with a good friend for a time. When he died, he left me thishouse.”
A pale shaft of moonlight came through the window, illuminating Mikhail’s green eyes. The unexpected pain she saw in them made Piper tilt her head withcuriosity.
“I’m sorry about your friend.” She’d never lost anyone close to her and couldn’t imagine what it must belike.
“It was a long time ago, but I have many memories of him to fill my heart.” His sad smile only made him more beautiful somehow. His affection for the man was still there, but a bittersweetness hung about his lips. Piper had the strange desire to lean over and kiss him, to try to banish the sorrow insidehim.
Piper hastily drank the rest of her tea and tried not to think about kissing Mikhail anymore. She’d done it enough already today, in situations that seriously called her sanity intoquestion.
Mikhail stood and held out a hand. “Do you want moretea?”
Piper shook her head and handed him the empty mug. He set it on the counter and extended his hand again. After a long hesitation, she placed her palm in his and tried to ignore the spark she felt when he curled his fingers tightly around hers. They left the kitchen, and she followed him down the hall lined with tiny landscape paintings. Someone in this house had loved art. There were piles of folios on a corner table by the stairs, and sketches peeped out at uneven angles from old worn leatherbindings.
“Are you an artist?” sheasked.
Mikhail chuckled. “Me? No. Those belonged to James. My friend. He was quite talented.” Mikhail paused at a painting at the base of the stairs. It was a cliff-side view of the sea. The waves crashed against the rocks as though announcing the arrival of a storm. There was a distant, almost black-colored bird painted in the distance. Strange to paint a single bird, she thought, a bird that didn’t seem to resemble a bird, actually. The wings were far too spiked, more like a bat than a bird.Howodd.
Piper nodded at the scene, which still managed to look stormy despite the hall lamps that painted everything with gold light. “Did he paintthis?”
“He did. James was a naturalist, what you’d call a scientist now, but there was a part of him that was untouched by logic and thrived on emotion and the arts. He was one of the few humans I trusted with—” Mikhail suddenly stopped, and with a rueful smile he continued up the stairs. He was a man of more secrets than sherealized.
They walked down a short corridor and paused in front of a heavy oak door with intricately carved designs. The latch was an old brass contraption that had not been updated like other parts of the house. It was stiff when Mikhail gave it a jerking twist with his hands. She guessed that most people would have taken a home like this and done their best to update everything so it was new and modern, but Mikhail hadn’t. His home was ancient. The stones by the window were covered in moss, and the walls were thick enough that the roar of the sea outside couldn’t slip between the cracks and stones, though the windows were still a problem. It was a place that filled one’s mind with dreams of days long past and the lives people might have once lived. The house was a haunting place full of surrealbeauty.
The wooden door opened, and Mikhail led her inside. A four-poster bed sat on a small dais, with blue-gold brocade curtains draped over the bed, shadowing it from the light of thechandelier.
“You can sleep here,” Mikhail said. “The windows are locked, and I wouldn’t advise breaking them. The glass is thick and old, which makes it more dangerous for you.” He leaned on the bedpost and watched herintently.
Piper walked away from him and examined the delicately designed vanity table, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The surface was cold and silky to the touch, covered with a fine layer of dust. She tilted her head back to see cobwebs strung like fine spun lace along dozens of perfectly cut glass pieces of the chandelier hanging above theirheads.
It’d been a long time since anyone had stayed in thisroom.
A breeze slipped between the panes of the windows, making Piper shiver despite Mikhail’s heavycoat.
“I’ll fetch you something to wear tonight and start a fire to keep you warm.” Mikhail nodded at the fireplace against the wall that backed up to the outside, directly opposite herbed.
Piper sat down on the edge of the bed to wait. He didn’t lock her in the room, but she suspected he would if he felt the need to. Escape could come later. Right now she just wanted to curl up in a soft, warm bed and sleep. Nothing about tonight had gone the way she’d planned. She was supposed to have met up with Mikhail, sure, maybe have a glass of wine, and, well, do what she’d been wanting to do for more than adecade.
Instead, she was his prisoner on his estate. InCornwall, of all places. Yeah, she definitely hadn’t planned this. To think she’d been worried he wouldn’t show up at the reception tonight or that he’d stand her up afterward. Those fears seemed rather silly now, all things considered. She closed her eyes and tried to take in a slow, calmingbreath.
Mikhail returned with a stack of clothes which had a large shirt andboxers.
“I’m sure these will be too big for you other than to sleep in.” He closed the door with his foot and set the clothes beside her on the bed. Then he knelt beside the fireplace and placed several hardy-looking logs on the rack, then set some kindling beneath them. She was only half paying attention when flames suddenly erupted over the logs and a healthy fire began consuming them. How in the world had he started a fire that fast? Piper shook her head.Must’ve been a BoyScout.
“I’ll come wake you in the morning,” Mikhail said as he rose and walked to the door. “But please, do not run. Between the cliffs and the fog that shrouds the shore this time of year, it isn’t safe.” His earnestness was so startling that she simply nodded. He lingered in the doorway, his face a mixture of doubt and worry. “Good night, little dove.” Then he closed thedoor.
Rather than feeling safe from him, however, she felt more alone thanever.
Little dove. She hated that she liked being called that. She strained an ear to listen for a lock turning, but she heard only soft footfalls as he walked away. Piper rose from the bed and went to warm herself by the fire. Distant eerie whines trickled down the fireplace as the wind passed over the chimney outside. It reminded her of her grandmother’s tales of banshees in Ireland, crying out to foretell someone’s approaching death. The sound was an unearthly wail, but it was muted by the sounds of thesea.
She padded over to the window and stared out into the darkness. A car was driving away, its taillights already distant spots in the night. Belishaw had finished whatever he’d been doing, probably hiding the jewels for Mikhail before he left. They were trulyalone.
Piper faced the stack of clothes and shiveredagain.
“Suck it up, Piper. If he wanted you dead, you’d already be in the ground,” she muttered. She stripped out of her dress and donned the black T-shirt and plaid blue boxers she’d been provided. The boxers were actually just the right size for her fullfigure.
There was a tall wardrobe in one corner, and she couldn’t resist investigating. The doors creaked, and the front panel shimmered slightly as gilded paint caught the light from the chandelier and fire. A musty smell, mixed with a lingering hint of perfume, teased her nose, making hersneeze.
