LIZZIE caught her breath in a long, shuddering gasp as the icy liquid ran inside her dress, inside her bra, darkening the delicate fabric as it spread coldly to her waist.
For a moment Noah regarded his handiwork impassively. Then his eyes rose to meet hers. ‘You appear to have a piece of...’ He paused and fished a slice of lemon from the neckline of her dress. It was the last straw.
She swung at him and caught his cheek as he rocked back on his heels. She was certain that she had barely made contact, and yet the mark of her hand was there, livid against his sun-darkened skin.
He moved swiftly to capture her wrist, holding it fast in his strong fingers. ‘Once, Elizabeth. Just once,’ he warned. ‘Try that again and I promise you won’t sit down for a week.’ For a moment she fought him, her cheeks hectic, her breath coming in furious gasps. Then, with a long tremulous sigh, she subsided.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re only sorry that you didn’t hit me harder,’ he said in a voice that struck like steel against her bones. Then he dropped her hand. ‘Now go and change.’ And this time she didn’t bother to ask what he would do if she refused.
In the safety of her bedroom Lizzie came close to panic, stripping off her wet things, dropping them on the bathroom floor, desperate to change before Noah took it into his head to follow her and make certain she obeyed him.
The man was a monster. He had the ability to provoke the most outrageous feelings in her. She had never hit anyone in her life before—had never wanted to. But he had known only too well that she would have done it again, given the opportunity. She shivered, shaken by the intensity of her reaction to him.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Lizzie. The wretch drowned you in ice. You’re just cold,’ she told herself crossly, sponging herself with warm water until she was rid of the sticky tonic water, and towelling herself dry. But she was still shivering.
Impatiently she tugged the black dress from its hanger and lifted it over her head, letting the material slide over her body until it came to rest against her hips. She glanced briefly at her reflection and then, startled, took a second look. The dress could have been made for her. The simple elegance, the purity of the line was so right.
Then she turned, and for the briefest of moments she was shocked at this very different vision of herself. As she moved the dress clung, offering a tantalising glimpse of her figure as she moved. It might be borrowed glamour, but Noah had been right to insist upon it. Lizzie had the feeling that tonight she was going to need all the help she could get.
She forced herself to say the painful words out loud. ‘Francesca Hallam. Mrs Francesca Hallam.’ Lord, how it hurt! But she had no one but herself to blame. Peter had warned her.
‘Three times, Lizzie. I’ve asked you to marry me three times. Once I leave for New York, that’s it.’ The next day an envelope with an airline ticket had been delivered by courier from London. By Concorde to New York. One way. It had been an ultimatum and it had infuriated her. She had sent it back by return. Such stupid, stupid pride. If only she had tried a little harder to make him understand.
‘Elizabeth?’ There was a tap at her sitting room door, and it was something of a relief to drag her eyes away from the pale reflection in the mirror and dwell instead on the flare of anger that his voice alone was enough to provoke.
‘What do you want?’ The door opened and she glared at him. ‘I didn’t invite you in.’
‘I’m not in the habit of conducting conversations through doors.’ He regarded her changed appearance without comment. ‘I would like you to wear these.’
The rejection of anything he offered was already half formed on her lips, but before she could speak he opened a flat jeweller’s box to reveal a pendant and a pair of long, drop earrings that quite took her breath away.
‘Oh!’ She reached out a tentative finger to touch the stones. ‘How...beautiful.’
‘Yes, they are beautiful.’ He took the pendant from its bed of velvet. It hung for a moment from his long fingers, the pearls glowing softly, the diamonds flashing fire in the dying sunlight. ‘And will look very much better with that dress than your locket.’
This reminder of what he had done to her locket brought her back to earth with a jolt, and she stepped back. ‘No.’
‘I insist, Elizabeth.’ His mouth was a thin, hard line. ‘It will add to the illusion—’
‘That we are lovers?’ she demanded furiously. ‘Tell me, Noah, do you always keep a fancy necklace handy in case your latest mistress doesn’t have anything suitable to wear?’ she snapped.
‘Only married men have mistresses, Elizabeth.’
‘Really? Then what do you have? A harem?’
‘The same rule applies, I believe. Besides, I make every effort to devote myself to one woman at a time,’ he said, a little drily.
‘How noble. So how will you explain away your sudden interest in me to that French actress you’ve been so cosy with lately?’
‘Simone?’ He seemed amused. ‘You can safely leave me to worry about that. Now turn around and I’ll fasten this for you.’
He was not going to take no for an answer. He probably never had to. Tempting as it was to try for a sensational first, Lizzie turned. She just wanted to get the whole thing over with. And as he lifted the pendant over her head to fasten it about her throat she caught sight of the tall dark man framing her in the mirror. Olivia’s brother had his own twisted reasons for what he was doing, but it would be some kind of balm to her own shattered pride if Peter believed that a man like Noah Jordan would want her to wear his jewels.
As he picked up one of the long earrings Lizzie held out her hand. ‘I can do that. Your method of removing jewellery is a little drastic for comfort.’ She carefully removed her pearl studs and Noah handed her the earrings without comment. ‘Are these real?’ she asked as she fastened the long drops to her ears.
‘They are certainly not a figment of your imagination.’
‘That’s not what I meant. If they’re real...’ She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. It was a common enough practice to have copies made of fine jewels. The real ones probably never left the bank vault. She caught sight of Noah’s mocking face reflected in the mirror and raised one shoulder a little awkwardly, wishing that she had never raised the subject. ‘I...just think... I’d feel safer in paste.’
‘Would you?’ His answering smile was oddly humourless—a mere widening of the lips, a deepening of the lines that bit into his cheeks. It didn’t touch the eyes that gleamed like old pewter in the evening light as he lifted the pendant from her throat and held it between his fingers.
‘These jewels,’ he said slowly, ‘were made for a queen—the gift of a lover who thought he might be invited to share her throne as well as her bed. She kept the jewels... but his presumption cost him his head.’ He paused, his head thrown back a little as he regarded her down the length of his aquiline nose.
‘They’ve changed hands a good many times since then. Sometimes violently. Once on the turn of a card. Always at great cost. And always they have been worn by the most beautiful women of the age. Princesses...’ He paused again. ‘Courtesans. Even a silent-movie star—the gift of an Arab prince for who knows what favours...’ She caught her breath. ‘And now they lie against your skin, Elizabeth. So, tell me, how safe do you feel?’
The room had gone away. And the sunlight. She was conscious only of the light touch of his knuckles against her throat. And his eyes holding her captive, suspended in some place where there was no need to breathe.
‘I...I shouldn’t be wearing them,’ she protested faintly. His fingers tightened momentarily about the pendant, then he laid it very gently back in the hollow of her neck. When he looked