‘—Dr Marianne Chambers?’
Then his dark brown eyes met hers. He had beautiful, sexy eyes. Brown with flecks of deepest orange fanning out from dark black pupils.
‘Your Serene Highness.’ She heard her voice. Just. It was more of a croak.
But she didn’t curtsey. Not so much a conscious act of defiance as the consequence of complete paralysis. She needed to tap into some of the hate she felt for him. Remember what he’d done to her. How much he’d hurt her.
‘Dr Chambers.’ He extended his hand and Marianne recovered enough composure to stretch out her own. ‘I understand from Professor Blackwell that you’re particularly knowledgeable about the Third Crusade.’
‘Y-yes.’ She felt his fingers close round her hand. Warm. Confident. A man in charge. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Thank you for giving up your evening at such short notice.’
Seb released her hand and turned back to the professor.
Strangers. They were meeting like strangers. Everything inside of her rebelled at that. They weren’t strangers. She wanted to scream that at him. Shout loudly. Make herself heard.
‘May I introduce Dr Max Liebnitz,’ Seb said smoothly, ‘the curator of the Princess Elizabeth Museum?’
Marianne had barely noticed the unassuming man standing quietly behind. He moved now and shook the professor’s hand. ‘Delighted to meet you,’ he said in heavily accented English. ‘And you, Dr Chambers. I believe I may have read something of yours on the battle of Hattin?’
‘That’s possible,’ Marianne murmured, conscious that Seb was standing no more than two metres away from her and could hear everything she said and everything said to her.
It was such a surreal experience. And the temptation to look at him again was immense, but she resolutely kept her focus on the professor, who’d fallen into an easy German. Her own grasp of the spoken language was less well-developed, but she knew enough to contribute to their discussion and more than enough to know Professor Blackwell had discovered a kindred spirit in Dr Leibnitz.
Seb’s well-informed observations astounded her. Once, when he referred to the siege of Acre, she was surprised into looking up at him.
He’d changed. The Seb she’d known couldn’t have made a comment like that. He’d been…reckless. Irresponsible. Ready for adventure. Simply younger, she supposed with a wry smile.
She tended to forget how very young she’d been herself—and how foolishly idealistic. She’d honestly believed she’d discovered her soul mate, the man she’d spend the rest of her life with, grow old with, have children with.
How foolish was that at eighteen? Marianne lifted her chin and straightened her spine. She’d paid a heavy price for her naivety, whereas Seb had recognised their relationship for what it was and survived it unscathed.
That hurt. To know that she was the only one nursing any kind of regret.
‘Marianne’s recent research has been particularly focused on the role of women.’ The professor turned to smile at her. ‘Obviously the vast bulk of primary sources available to us have been written by men—’
‘And for men,’ Marianne interjected, bringing her mind back into sharp focus.
Dr Leibnitz nodded. ‘It must make your research particularly painstaking.’
‘But fascinating,’ Marianne agreed. ‘Wars have always impacted on women and the Third Crusade was no different.’
Seb stood back and listened. He wasn’t sure what had surprised him most—that Marianne was fluent in German or that she was so clearly respected for her opinions. Ten years ago she’d intended to pursue an English degree. So, what had made her change direction?
And the German? It was impossible not to remember the times he’d tried to instruct her in his native tongue for no other reason than he’d loved to hear the strong English accent in her appalling pronunciation. There was no trace of that any more.
Very little trace of the girl at all. This morning he’d been struck by the similarities, but this evening her ash blonde hair was swept up in a sophisticated style and her body was much more curvaceous than the image of her he held in his memory.
Still beautiful. Undeniably. Maybe more so.
And nervous. Seb wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did. There was nothing about the way Marianne was speaking that told him that. Outwardly she seemed to be a woman in control of her destiny, comfortable wherever she found herself, but…there was something. Perhaps the grip on her handbag was a little too tight? Or her back a little too straight?
She hadn’t wanted to talk to him this morning—and he’d lay money on the fact she didn’t want to be here tonight. He watched the soft swing of her long earrings against the fine column of her throat and he experienced a wave of…
He wasn’t sure of what. Regret that he’d hurt her? Maybe that was the ache inside of him? He’d never intended to hurt her. But then he hadn’t intended to do anything more than speak to her on that first day. Not much more than that on the second.
They had all four of them been travelling through France. What was more sensible than that he and Nick should join forces with Marianne and Beth? At least, that was what he’d told his friend.
He’d been such a fool. He’d had no idea of the possible consequences. But Nick had. Seb thought of his old school friend with a familiar appreciation. Nick had tried hard to persuade him to stay longer in Amiens. Had been a constant voice in his ear reminding him of what his parents would say…
Marianne’s accusation this morning that he’d lied to her had startled him—and yet the more he thought about it the more ashamed he felt.
He owed her an explanation. What he lacked was the opportunity to give it. Professor Blackwell and Dr Leibnitz might be deep in conversation, but it was pushing the bounds of possibility to imagine they wouldn’t be aware of what was being said in another part of the room.
Seb nodded towards the butler, who opened the double doors into the intimate dining room. The party moved through and with great skill, he thought, he encouraged the professor and Dr Leibnitz to continue their conversation uninterrupted—and that left him next to Marianne.
The butler positioned her chair behind her and she’d no choice but to accept the place. Instinct told him that she would not have if there’d been any alternative. He watched her, surreptitiously, noticing the small curl of baby-fine blonde hair that had escaped the elegant twist and had settled at the nape of her neck.
She was a very beautiful woman. And not married. She wore no rings on her left hand. In fact, she wore no jewellery—except the long, tapering earrings that swung against her neck when she spoke.
‘Your German is excellent, Dr Chambers,’ Seb said, forcing her to look at him.
Her eyes turned to him, startled, and the long earrings swung softly. ‘Th-thank you.’
‘Where did you learn it?’
The butler stepped forward and moved to fill her wine glass.
‘No. Thank you. I’d prefer water.’
Seb watched the nervous flutter of her hands. ‘Your German,’ he persisted, ‘where did you learn it? Your pronunciation is perfect.’
He saw the slight widening of her eyes and knew she was remembering the afternoon they’d spent at Monet’s garden at Giverny.
She turned her head away and her earrings swung. Marianne didn’t seem to notice the way they brushed her neck. ‘Eliana…’ She swallowed. ‘Eliana, Professor Blackwell’s wife, is Austrian. From Salzburg.’
Seb frowned his confusion. He didn’t immediately see the connection…
‘I