King's Ransom (Man on a Mission 2)

He stared silently down at her as if mesmerized for so long her smile faded into solemnity and she stared back at him. Finally he said, “His name is Charlemagne. He is half brother to Mara’s horses, Alexander the Great and Suleiman the Magnificent.”

Her brows drew together in a question. “Mara’s horses? But didn’t I read somewhere that Alexander the Great was your horse? Didn’t he win the Grand National for you one year?”

His lips twitched into a faint smile and he made the fencing gesture indicating a hit...and a point. “You are well-informed,” he said. “Yes, Alexander was mine, but no longer. I sold him for a fraction of his value to Mara when she married earlier this year—he was her wedding gift to her husband.”

“Married?” She tilted her head up in a question. “I don’t remember reading anything about that.”

“New Year’s Day. Very quiet. Very private. It was Mara’s wish, and I—”

“And you could never deny her anything,” she finished for him. “I remember that about you.” She studied him for a moment. “Who did she marry?”

That faint smile came and went. “An American bastard who does not even know his father’s name.” Shock reverberated through her at his words, then her eyes narrowed in accusing fashion. He accurately read her accusation and explained ruefully, “That is his own definition of himself. I would rather have described him as a man who would give the blood from his veins to keep Mara safe, because she is his whole world.”

“Oh, I’m so glad for Mara,” Juliana said swiftly. “I always felt guilty that I—”

“That you never called her, never wrote to her after the first two months when you went away to college. She suffered under the loss of your friendship, little one. She never said anything—you know that was never her way—but I knew just the same. I had not thought you so cruel, so careless. Not to Mara.”

She was stung by the accusation, knowing there was some truth to it, and at the same time startled and wounded by the use of his pet name for her so long ago—little one. She’d always been petite and seemingly fragile, but she had strength of will and a stamina that could put many men to shame. Next to Andre, however, who’d always towered over her since the first day she met him, little one had been an obvious endearment. And at the time she hadn’t minded. On the contrary, she’d welcomed his having a pet name for her, the same way he’d had one for his sister. Dernya, which meant “little treasure” in Zakharan, was what he’d always called Mara. Kolinya, or the English translation, “little one,” had been his choice for Juliana. It had made her feel precious. Cherished.

But Juliana hadn’t expected to hear it on his lips ever again. Thrown off stride, she tried to defend herself. “I just couldn’t remain friends with her. Not after...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Couldn’t bring herself to talk about that terrible day she’d learned the truth about Andre...and about the fairy-tale world she’d been living in for two months.

His eyes darkened. “So I am to blame for that, as well?”

Pain welled up with such overwhelming force she couldn’t hold it back. It slashed across her face, and the backs of her eyes prickled as a precursor to tears. She blinked rapidly, not wanting him to see her cry again. He closed his eyes, and if she hadn’t known better she could almost have believed he couldn’t bear to see her pain. But he’d authored her pain so many years ago maybe he’d forgotten. Was that possible? Could he have forgotten? Maybe he just wanted to forget, the way she wished she could. I would give anything to forget, her heart cried.

When Andre opened his eyes again Juliana saw that he had somehow retrieved that iron control over himself she remembered so well. “How did you come here, Juliana?”

If he could control himself and speak in a normal voice, so could she. “I walked.”

“All the way from the palace?” He raised his head to look at the palace in the far distance, several miles away at least. “All by yourself?”

“I like walking.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes softened. “I remember. But I cannot imagine you do much walking in Hollywood. Not alone.”

“Not so much,” she agreed, forcing herself to a semblance of a casual smile. “Fame carries a price.” She indicated Andre’s bodyguard. “I’m sure you know all about that.”

Andre untied Charlemagne and quickly mounted with a creak of saddle leather. Then he held his hand out to her in imperious fashion. “Come. I will take you back.”