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dress-up. I imagined I was a grand lady at a ball.”
    “You are, you know.”
    “What, a grand lady? Well, I thought so. I used to draw a beauty mark on my cheek and pretend Lord-Something-Or-Other twirled me around a ballroom floor.”
    His gaze wandered to the sexy quirk of her lips. He whistled a stanza of a Strauss waltz, and she made a face at him. “How did you end up at Penrods?”
    “My mother and I spent summers in the States visiting her friends, roaming Manhattan. It was on a visit to the diamond district that I fell in love with antique jewelry. I sketched the designs through the shop windows.” She shook her head in thought, “I guess it was all part of the Plan.”
    “Plan?”
    “To be the top designer in the industry.” Although she kept her teasing tone, he could tell she meant every word she said.
    “Well, number two, at least,” he remarked, just as serious.
    “When the time is right, I will start my own design firm,” she warned.
    For a few moments, the ordered visage of the self-control freak had vanished. But it was back now, like an armored mask over her face, and he wanted it gone.
    “Did you know your lips quirk into the most fetching curves when your dander is up?” he asked.
    Her words came to a halt as if she had forgotten the many words in her English vocabulary. When she gave him a blank stare, he caught her off guard with something he had been thinking about since that night in her apartment.
    “No time for love? Not even in college, Beauty?”
    She hesitated before answering. She could not bring herself to speak about Emil Garamonde. Her college beau was a safer topic. “There was someone, but my work…”
    “You did not love him?”
    “I’ve never been in love.” She looked down at her hands and fell into silence.
    “You have been working, and to all intents and purposes, living at Penrods.”
    She looked up at him. He, too, was surprised by the harsh note in his voice.
    “I love my work. There was never much time for…anything else.” She exhaled; no doubt, because she knew her excuse was no excuse at all. “It seems a strange concept now sitting here with you.”
    “Ah. That’s my girl. Aren’t you relieved now that you’ve admitted it?”
    The mask softened into a stubborn grin. “Are you my confessor? Will you grant penance for the indiscretion?”
    “Only if I have your word you will change your ways.” He stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet.
    Something whizzed past his ear, lifting the hair on the nape of his neck. The sound was foreign to the forest, and he reacted instinctively. He pushed Amelie back down onto the grass and covered her with his body.
    He lifted up enough to scan the trees, dense coverage for anyone with a purpose. Even as he thought of this, he was aware of how soft and full Amelie’s breasts were against his chest.
    There was a bit of metal protruding from the tree in front of them, a bullet. Someone had just shot at them, barely missing him.
    “What is it?” She squirmed her rounded hips underneath him and he was instantly rock-hard.
    “Stay down.” He could see nothing out of the ordinary through the trees. The person had used a silencer. His knee slipped between her legs.
    “What’s happening?”
    “I am afraid that was a stray shot.”
    “Do you mean someone shot a gun? I didn’t hear anything.”
    “Let’s get back to the car.” He got up slowly, lifting her with an arm about the waist and bracing her with one leg between hers. He stopped himself before picking her up and carrying her off. She probably wouldn’t go for that. Reluctantly, he released her, keeping his body in front of hers as she brushed the leaves from her skirt.
    “Probably just an illegal fox hunt. I’ll get Lyle on it.”
    Amelie sat staring out the window at the passing countryside as they drove the mile back to St. Clair Manor in silence and he wondered who was trying to kill him.
    * * * *
    London – March 1988
    The first thing