Forgiven but Not Forgotten?

There was ice in his tone, but also something more ambiguous that sounded like injured pride, and Siena felt momentarily confused. A sliver of doubt pierced her. Weren’t those stories true?

Andreas uncoiled his tall length, and stood up, going to the sink, where he washed out his cup—a small domestic gesture that surprised Siena.

He turned and said, ‘The jeweller will be here shortly.’

He’d walked out before Siena could respond, and she watched his broad back and tall body disappear, radiating tension. She felt wrong-footed. As if she should apologise!

Siena took her things to the sink, where she washed up perfunctorily and thought churlishly that at least she could figure out the taps. Just as she was turning to leave an older lady walked in, smiling brightly. ‘Morning, dear! You must be Ms DePiero. I’m Mrs Bright, the housekeeper.’

Siena smiled awkwardly and said, ‘Please call me Siena…’

As accomplished as she was in social situations, Siena was an innately shy person and came forward faltering slightly. The older woman met her halfway and took her hand in a warm handshake, smiling broadly. Siena liked her immediately and smiled back.

Siena wisely took the opportunity to ask Mrs Bright about the kitchen, and liked the woman even more when her eyes rolled up to heaven and she said in a broad Scots accent, ‘I thought I’d need a degree in rocket science to figure it all out, but it’s actually very simple once you know.’

When Siena explained about the previous evening Mrs Bright said conspiratorially, ‘Don’t worry, pet. I couldn’t work out which one was the oven either at first.’

Unbeknown to the two women, who were now bent down by the oven, Andreas had come back to the doorway. He listened for a moment and then said abruptly, ‘The jeweller is here, Siena.’

The two women turned around and he could see the dull flush climbing up Siena’s neck. He flashed back to the previous evening, when he’d found her looking so defiant in the kitchen, refusing to put the meat in the oven.

She said thank you to the housekeeper and walked over to him. Andreas caught her arm just as she was about to pass and said, sotto voce, ‘You didn’t know where the oven was. Why didn’t you just tell me?’

He could see Siena’s throat work, saw that flush climb higher, and felt curiously unsteady on his feet.

Eventually she bit out, avoiding his eye, ‘I thought you’d find it funny.’

Andreas didn’t find it funny in the least. He said, ‘You could have told me, Siena. I’m not an ogre.’

Siena was trembling by the time they got to the drawing room, where Andreas had directed her. Two small men were waiting for them, with lots of cases and boxes around them and an array of jewels laid out on a table before them. Siena noticed a security guard in the corner of the room. She felt sick.

* * *

Later that evening Siena was waiting for Andreas. He’d gone to his office that morning after the jewellery show-and-tell, and she’

d been left with a small ransom’s worth of jewellery. A special safe had been installed in Andreas’s office just for her use.

She still felt jittery. Andreas had insisted that to fully appreciate whether or not the jewellery was suitable Siena should get changed into an evening gown. He’d led her, protesting, into her dressing room and picked out a long black strapless dress.

‘Put this on.’

Siena had hissed, ‘I will not. Don’t be so ridiculous. I’ll know perfectly well what will suit me and what won’t.’

‘Well, seeing as I’m paying for the privilege of your company this week, I’d like to see you try out the jewellery in more suitable garb than jeans and a T-shirt—which, by the way, I expect to be in the bin by the end of today.’

‘You’re just doing this to humiliate me.’ Siena had crossed her arms mulishly and glared at Andreas, who had looked back, supremely relaxed.

‘Put the dress on, Siena, and put your hair up. Or I’ll do it for you. I’ll give you five minutes.’

With that chilling command he’d turned and walked out of the room. Siena had fumed and resolved to do no such thing. But then an image of Andreas, striding back into her room and bodily divesting her of her jeans and T-shirt, had made her go hot. He wouldn’t, she’d assured herself. But a small voice had sniggered in her head. Of course he would.

Gritting her teeth and repeating her mantra—one week, one week—Siena folded her jeans and T-shirt into her small suitcase, with no intention of following his autocratic command to throw them away, and slipped on the dress. It was simple in the way that only the best designer dresses could be, and beautifully made. Gathered under her bust in an Empire line, it flowed in soft silken and chiffon folds to the floor.

The bodice part of it clung to her breasts, making them seem fuller, and was cut in such a way as to enhance her cleavage. Siena had felt naked. Her father would never have allowed her to wear something so revealing…so sensual.

She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail and returned to the salon barefoot. When the two jewellers had stood up on her return Siena had barely noticed, only aware of the dark blue, heavy-lidded gaze that had travelled down her body with a look so incendiary she’d almost stumbled.

Andreas had taken her hand and pulled her in beside him on a small two-seater couch, his muscular thigh far too close to hers through the flimsy covering of her dress. His arm had moved around her, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her shoulder, drawing small circles, making her breath quicken and awareness pierce her deep inside.