Conflict Of Hearts

‘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 up again the dangerous expression in his eyes was eclipsed.

‘Probably not,’ he murmured carelessly. ‘But they deserve one night off in five hundred years, don’t you think?’

Lizzie gasped. Then overstretched nerves expressed themselves in a giggle. ‘I thought you were supposed to be famous for your charm?’ she said impetuously.

‘Am I?’ He was very still for a moment. ‘And weren’t you charmed? Just for a moment?’ The faintest smile mocked her as the bright colour darkened her cheek-bones. Of course she had been. He had said that he could have her eating out of his hand, and he had just proved it with his preposterous fairy-tale. But he had caught her off guard. It wouldn’t happen again.

‘Charm away, Mr Jordan,’ she invited recklessly. ‘I can see right through you. I’m immune.’

‘In that case, Elizabeth, we should do very well together.’ He extended a hand. ‘Shall we go?’ The hand was a challenge she could not ignore, and after only the slightest hesitation she laid her fingers upon his and allowed him to lead her out to the Bentley, where Harper was waiting to drive them to the theatre.

‘So many people!’ Lizzie exclaimed as the car disgorged them in front of the Coliseum.

‘It’s something of an occasion,’ he agreed as they joined the throng of celebrities gathering in animated groups in the magnificent foyer.

The great columns of the theatre had been garlanded with flowers from floor to ceiling, and everywhere the atmosphere hummed with excitement. Noah was continuously hailed as they made their way through the crush, and she found herself the subject of many speculative glances as she was introduced to the kind of people she normally only saw in the newspapers or on television.

They made their way slowly through the throng, the black dress, the stunning jewels attracting their fair share of admiring glances, and Lizzie was a thousand times thankful not to be wearing the embarrassment that would have been her pink taffeta.

Then she saw Peter. He had abandoned classic English tailoring for an Armani evening suit that did little for his tall, slender figure, and he looked ill at ease, as if he would rather be anywhere else. Clearly it was Francesca who had insisted on their coming. And it was Francesca who saw her first, her eyes widening slightly at this very different vision of Lizzie from the bridesmaid she had met that afternoon.

‘Hello, Francesca, Peter. I’m so glad you decided to come,’ Noah said, from somewhere over her shoulder.