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Jonas Shades. Why did the name seem so familiar? Where had she heard it before?
Purple Feather cocked a hand on her hip. “Bertha, you’ve no intentions of buying anything, do you? You dragged me out in this weather just to add fodder to your gossip fuel. I’ve a good mind to drag you right back home.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Bertha pretended indignation, then leaned closer to her companion’s ear. “My David says he’s been impossible to work for since his wife disappeared, that he’s lost his edge. Hasn’t been able to do anything. The research; it’s stopped. David says the man spends most of his days pacing. And you know how it is.… Well, I had to see for myself.”
Purple Feather’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Your grandson is as bad a gossip as you are.”
Bertha picked up a trinket from the nearby table and replaced it with barely a look. “David says that’s why he’s having the auction. David says he desperately needs cash for his research. Think of how it would affect the village if he left.”
“Someone else would come. Someone always does.” Purple Feather tried to pull Bertha along.
“Yes, but at what price to us? Remember what happened when the family lost the monastery after Jeremy Shades died? The village almost disappeared.”
“Come on.” The hat’s purple feather dipped wildly as the woman forcibly pulled her companion along. “The auction’s about to begin. Let’s go take our seats.”
Cathlynn followed the old ladies out the door. Bertha stopped abruptly, and Cathlynn nearly crashed into her.
“There he is,” Bertha whispered to her companion. “Oh my, he doesn’t look good at all, does he? I wonder if he’ll cancel the Christmas fete this year. What a disappointment that would be for everyone. But who could blame him with all this tragedy hanging over his head?”
Despite herself, Cathlynn couldn’t help following the old lady’s gaze to the tall man standing in the corner. He leaned his long, athletic frame against the wall, studying the room with undisguised contempt. His dark brown hair looked as if it had recently been raked by fingers. Deep-set eyes the color of squally clouds hid beneath low eyebrows, giving him an appearance as frosty as the winter storm announcing itself outside. Prominent cheekbones and a square jaw negated the promise of sensuality offered by his full mouth.
Not a man to tangle with, yet Cathlynn found herself drawn to the sheer power of his presence. Even when he tried to melt into the shadows, he filled the room.
Their gazes met and held for longer than was comfortable. The intensity of his gray eyes traveled all the way to her soul, and buffeted her with feelings she didn’t dare name. She put down the exciting sensation thrilling through her to the prospect of owning the Aidan Heart, not to the brooding man who stood in the corner.
Unexpectedly, the protection of her coat felt like candy glass, thin and transparent. She tightened it around her despite the insufferable warmth tingling her body. An echo of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on pinged deep inside.
The illusion of warmth faded from his eyes. When she realized his stare had hardened into hate, she shivered and turned away.
Why? She made her way back to her chair. What did I do? She removed her coat and self-consciously smoothed the skirt of her burgundy wool-blend shirt-dress, then picked up her brochure.
Jonas Shades. Where had she heard the name? She read the brochure’s cover and found the auction sponsored by the Monastery Company. She searched through the catalog of her mind, but came up empty. She’d never met the man—would have remembered if she had. Power that potent wasn’t easily forgotten.
She shrugged. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t driven all this way to solve the mystery behind the pained look in Mr. Jonas Shades’s eyes.
Suddenly, the front door blew open. Wind whipped through the opening. It whistled and snarled down the makeshift aisle, snapping the folding chairs in the back row to the ground with its unexpected ferocity. The audience turned in one movement.
“Do you suppose it’s her?” Bertha whispered to her companion.
“Who? The monks’ virgin sacrifice?” Purple Feather scoffed.
“Her. You know, his wife. The one who disappeared last month. I’ve heard people say they’ve seen her ghost about the place. Some even say he killed her himself in a fit of rage.”
Purple Feather jabbed Bertha in the ribs with her elbow. “There you go again, gossiping. No one’s sure she’s even dead. You should know by now people love to exaggerate everything because nothing ever happens here. The monks’ legend is just that—a legend.”
“Well, there’s always a grain of truth in every story. The monks do have a bloody history.”
“It’s just a myth!”
A heavy thump boomed and resounded down the corridor as a young man dressed in a suit too formal for the occasion closed the door, straightened the downed chairs, then took a seat in the back row.
The auctioneer banged his hammer and got the sale under way. He proceeded at a fast pace, for which Cathlynn was thankful. Turning her gaze to the corner of the room, she found Jonas Shades’s icy stare on her once more. The faster she got her prize, the sooner she could escape and leave behind the uncomfortable feeling settling in her gut.
“Now we have item number one hundred and thirteen. A piece of experimental Irish glass circa 1900 from the Summers Glasshouse. The artist is unknown, but the piece is often referred to as the Aidan Heart. Who will give me…”
She knew the market value, but she also knew she wanted the piece no matter what it cost. And that put her at a disadvantage. Would puffers, seeking to inflate prices, prey on her vulnerability? Would the auctioneer call phantom bids when he sensed the intensity of her desire? She’d bid tentatively at first to feel out the opposition. If she simulated a lack of interest, she might get the piece for below its market value.
Cathlynn waited patiently, breath held, while someone signaled to cut the opening bid in half.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer continued, “this is the finest example of Irish glass I’ve seen in a long time…”
The bidding went fast and furious. As the price of the piece rose to its market value, Cathlynn tightened her hold on her bidding card and tried to remain calm.
“This is no money for such a fine example of Irish glass…”
Beads of moisture formed along her hairline. Cathlynn put up her card.
“Remember, this is an original, ladies and gentlemen. You would pay more than this for a reproduction. Who will give me…”
The bidding was too high. Cathlynn’s armpits prickled with sweat. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles. As she calculated her options, her mind whirled.
I want it.
I need it.
No amount of cool reasoning could counter the irrational demand of her yearning.
She had to have it.
She put up her card.
“This should be a part of any serious glass collection…”
One card went up. Then another. She’d never dreamed the price would go so high. Oh God, she was going to lose the Aidan Heart after searching for it for ten years. She couldn’t let it go.
Licking her dry lips, she flung up her card, not sure how she’d manage to pay.
Jonas interrupted the auctioneer. A frantic whispered discussion passed between them, and Jonas, nodding once to someone in the back, left through the back door.
What was going on? Why had they stopped? Dreadful premonition swamped through her. No, they couldn’t stop. It wasn’t legal. She was so close. Her rapid pulse hammered her brain. Her hands unconsciously tightened around the bidding card, scrunching the flimsy cardboard.
The auctioneer cleared his throat and resumed his pitch. “Ladies and gentlemen…”
From the back of the room came a bid. A bid so ridiculous it took an instant to register into her brain.
“What!” Cathlynn jumped to her feet amid agitated whispers. She whirled, knocking her chair to the ground. “You can’t do that!”
The polished young man who’d closed the front door smiled at her, tilting his head sideways and lifting his eyebrows and shoulders in mock regret. Not a single black hair fell out of place. Not a single crease marred his expensive suit. Not a wrinkle worried his handsome features.
“David?” Bertha scrunched her eyes and peered at the young man. “Is that you?”
“Any further advances?” the auctioneer asked. He looked around the room. “Going once! Twice! Last time!” He brought his hammer down. The sound of finality exploded in Cathlynn’s mind. “Sold to number one for…”
She’d lost.
Cathlynn couldn’t believe it. After all this time, it couldn’t be true. Her heart banged painfully against her ribs. As her vision narrowed, the whole room swirled into a vortex, twisting everything into rushing black specters speeding toward her. The roar in her ear thundered over her thoughts, dousing them in a quagmire of thick, dark slime. Her limbs shook, ice-cold, numb. She couldn’t find air. She pulled in a harsh gulp. The air vanished before it found her lungs.
“Are you all right?” A strange voice pierced the dark abyss spinning all around her, releasing her.
“I’m fine.” She devoured the air in great mouthfuls. “I’m fine.”
Someone righted her chair and helped her into it. When she realized who stood above her, she trapped the young man’s hands in hers. “I want to buy the Aidan Heart from you.”
“Sorry.” He smiled apologetically and a contrite expression glimmered from his warm brown eyes. “I’m just the buyer’s agent.”
“Who’s the buyer?”
He nodded toward the back door behind the auctioneer. “Him.”
The dark and mysterious Jonas Shades.
Dizzy, she reached for her hat and gloves, knocking them to the floor. Bending down to retrieve them, her head cleared, returning the room to its original shape. She sat on the edge of the hard chair and closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up and find this had all been a terrible nightmare.
“Now we have item one hundred and fourteen.…” The auction resumed.
Pain ripped through her heart until it seemed as if blood dripped from her chest. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Light-headed, she wavered once as she rose.
She had to think. She couldn’t give up. She’d find the buyer and make him understand he couldn’t have the Aidan Heart. Searching the back of the room, she couldn’t find him. The man seemed to have disappeared. Shakily, she made her way to the entry hall and gripped the auction room’s doorjamb, drawing strength from its solid form.
“Is J.T. in?” A British-accented voice carried like a wave from farther down the corridor. Cathlynn caught a glimpse of the receding figure of a man bundled in a heavy black overcoat, gray scarf and felt bowler.
“Dr. Shades was not expecting you today.”
Dr. J. T. Shades!
Now she remembered where she’d heard the name Jonas Shades. He was the brilliant researcher who’d made waves last year when he’d denounced his sponsoring company’s intentions as fraudulent and ended their association.
What did he need the Aidan Heart for? What could he possibly want with her piece of glass? Her breaths quickened. Her free fist clenched by her side. She stowed the helplessness away in a deep corner, and let anger swell and crest, needing desperately to latch on to something other than the pain mauling her heart.
If Jonas Shades thought she was going home empty-handed today, he had no idea who he was dealing with.
JONAS HAD EXPECTED Sterling Ryder to show up, just not this soon. 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.
