of tying her up and locking her in a room, he couldn't stop her from working herself into the ground.
At least she was eating, he reflected. And the color had seeped back into her cheeks. Maybe there was another tack to getting his way. Casually he took out a sandwich.
“I've been thinking about the emeralds.”
The change in topic and attitude surprised her. “Oh?”
“I read the transcript Max put together from the interview with Mrs. Tobias, the maid. And I listened to the tape.”
“What do you think?”
“I think she's got a good memory, and that she was impressed by Bianca. From her viewpoint, the setup was that Bianca was unhappy in her marriage, devoted to her children and in love with my grandfather. She and Fergus were already on shaky ground when they had the blowout over the dog. We'll figure that was the straw that broke it. She decided to leave him, but she didn't go that night. Why?”
“Even if she'd finally made the decision,” Suzanna said slowly, “there would have been arrangements to make. She'd have had to consider the children.”
This she understood all too well. “Where could she take them, how could she be certain she could provide for them. Even if the marriage was a disaster, she would have to plan carefully how to tell them she was taking them away from their father.”
“So when Fergus left for Boston after they fought, she started to work it out. We have to figure she went to my grandfather, because he ended up with the dog.”
“She loved him,” Suzanna murmured. “She would have gone to him first. And he loved her, so he would have wanted to go away with her and the children.”
“If we go with that, we take it to the next step. She went back to The Towers to pack, to get the kids together. But instead of meeting my grandfather and riding off into the sunset, she takes a jump out of the tower window. Why?”
“She was in turmoil.” With her eyes half – closed, Suzanna stared into the sunlight. “She was about to take a step that would end her marriage, separate her children from their father. Break her vows. It's so difficult, so frightening. Like dying. Maybe she thought she was a failure, and when her husband came home, and she had to face him and herself, she couldn't.”
Holt ran a hand over her hair. “Is that what it was like for you?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “We're talking about Bianca. And I don't see what her reasons for killing herself have to do with the emeralds.”
Holt took his hand away. “First we decide why she hid them, then we go for where.”
Slowly she relaxed again. “Fergus gave them to her when their first son was born. Not their first child. A girl didn't rate.” She took another sip of her ginger ale and washed away some of her own bitterness. “She would have resented that, I think. To be rewarded – like a prize mare – for producing an heir. But, they were hers because the child was hers.”
Because her eyes were heavy, she let them drift closed. “Bax gave me diamonds when Alex was born. I didn't feel guilty about selling them to start the business. Because they were mine. She might have felt the same way. The emeralds would have bought a new life for her, for the children.”
“Why did she hide them?”
“To make certain he didn't find them if he stopped her from leaving. So that she knew she'd have something of her own.”
“Did you hide your diamonds, Suzanna?”
“I put them in Jenny's diaper bag. The last place Baxter would look.” With a half laugh, she plucked at the grass. “That sounds so melodramatic.”
But he wasn't smiling or sneering, she noted. He was frowning out at the dianthiums where the bees hovered and hummed. “It sounds damn smart to me. She spent a lot of time in the tower, right?”
“We've looked there.”
“We'll look again, and take her bedroom apart.”
“Lilah will love that.” Suzanna closed her eyes again. The food and the shade were making her sleepy. “It's her bedroom now. And we've looked there, too.”
“I haven't.”
“No.” She decided it wouldn't hurt to stretch out while they finished talking it through. The grass was blissfully cool and soft. “If we found her journal, we'd know the answers. Mandy went through every book in the library, just in case it got mixed in like the purloined letter.”
He began to stroke her hair again. “We'll take another look.” “Mandy wouldn't have missed anything. She's too organized.” “I'd rather check over old ground than depend on a seance.”
She made a sound that was half laugh and half sigh. “Aunt Coco'll talk you into it.” Her voice grew heavy with fatigue. “We need to plant the pinks first.”
“Okay.” He'd moved his hands down and was gently massaging her shoulders.
“It'll trail right over the rocks and down the bank. It doesn't give up,” she murmured, and was asleep.
“You're telling me.”
He left her there in the shade and walked back into the sunlight.
The grass was tickling her cheek when she woke. She'd rolled over onto her stomach and had slept like a stone. Groggy, she opened her eyes. She saw Holt sitting back against the tree, his legs crossed at the ankles. He was watching her as he brought a cigarette to his lips.
“I must have dozed off.” “You could say that.”
“Sorry.” She pushed herself up on her elbow. “We were talking about the emeralds.”
He flicked the cigarette away. “We've talked enough for now.” In one swift move, he hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her against him. Before she was fully awake, she was in his lap and his mouth was on hers.
He'd watched her sleep. And as he had watched her sleep, the need to touch her had boiled inside him until his blood was like lava. She'd looked so perfect, the sleeping princess, creamy skin dappled by hazy shade, her cheek resting on her hand, her hand on the grass.
He'd wanted those soft, warm lips under his, to feel that long, fragile body molded to him, to hear that quick little catch in her breathing. So he took, feverishly.
Disarmed, disoriented, she struggled back. Her blood had gone from slow and cool to rapid and hot, Her body, relaxed by sleep, was now taut as a bow. She dragged in a single ragged breath. All she could see was his face, his eyes dark and dangerous, his mouth hard and hungry. Then all was a blur as his lips brushed down on hers again.
She let him take what he seemed to need to take so desperately. Under the shade of the beech she pressed against him, answering each demand. When the dizziness came again, she reveled in it. This was not a weakness she had to fight. It was one she had wanted to feel as long as she could remember.
On an oath, he buried his face at her throat where her pulse jackhammered. Nothing and no one had ever made him feel like this. Frantic and shaky. Each time his mouth came back to hers it was with a new edge of desperation, each keener than the last, Dozens of sensations knifed into him, all sharp and deadly. He wanted to shove her aside, walk away before they cut him to ribbons. He wanted to roll with her on the cool, soft grass and drive out all the aches and jagged needs.
But her arms were around him, her hands moving restlessly through his hair while her body trembled. Then her cheek was against his, nuzzling there in a gesture that was almost unbearably sweet.
“What are we going to do?” she murmured. Wanting comfort, she turned her lips to his skin and sighed.
“I think we both know the answer to that”
Suzanna closed her eyes. It was so simple for him. She rested against him a moment, listening to the bees buzz in the flowers. “I need time.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back until they were faceto – face. “I may not be able to give it to you. We're not children anymore, and I'm tired of wondering what it would be like.”
She let out a shaky breath. The turmoil wasn't only hers, she realized. She could feel it, shimmering out of him. “If you ask for more than I can give, we'll both be disappointed. I want you.” She bit back a gasp when his
