Chapter 15

They walked down a short corridor and paused in front of a heavy oak door with intricately carved designs. The latch was an old brass contraption that had not been updated like other parts of the house. It was stiff when Mikhail gave it a jerking twist with his hands. She guessed that most people would have taken a home like this and done their best to update everything so it was new and modern, but Mikhail hadn't. His home was ancient. The stones by the window were covered in moss, and the walls were thick enough that the roar of the sea outside couldn't slip between the cracks and stones, though the windows were still a problem. It was a place that filled one's mind with dreams of days long past and the lives people might have once lived. The house was a haunting place full of surreal beauty.

The wooden door opened, and Mikhail led her inside. A four-poster bed sat on a small dais, with blue-gold brocade curtains draped over the bed, shadowing it from the light of the chandelier.

"You can sleep here," Mikhail said. "The windows are locked, and I wouldn't advise breaking them. The glass is thick and old, which makes it more dangerous for you." He leaned on the bedpost and watched her intently.

Piper walked away from him and examined the delicately designed vanity table, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The surface was cold and silky to the touch, covered with a fine layer of dust. She tilted her head back to see cobwebs strung like fine spun lace along dozens of perfectly cut glass pieces of the chandelier hanging above their heads.

It'd been a long time since anyone had stayed in this room.

A breeze slipped between the panes of the windows, making Piper shiver despite Mikhail's heavy coat.

"I'll fetch you something to wear tonight and start a fire to keep you warm." Mikhail nodded at the fireplace against the wall that backed up to the outside, directly opposite her bed.

Piper sat down on the edge of the bed to wait. He didn't lock her in the room, but she suspected he would if he felt the need to. Escape could come later. Right now she just wanted to curl up in a soft, warm bed and sleep. Nothing about tonight had gone the way she'd planned. She was supposed to have met up with Mikhail, sure, maybe have a glass of wine, and, well, do what she'd been wanting to do for more than a decade.

Instead, she was his prisoner on his estate. In Cornwall, of all places. Yeah, she definitely hadn't planned this. To think she'd been worried he wouldn't show up at the reception tonight or that he'd stand her up afterward. Those fears seemed rather silly now, all things considered. She closed her eyes and tried to take in a slow, calming breath.

Mikhail returned with a stack of clothes which had a large shirt and boxers.

"I'm sure these will be too big for you other than to sleep in." He closed the door with his foot and set the clothes beside her on the bed. Then he knelt beside the fireplace and placed several hardy-looking logs on the rack, then set some kindling beneath them. She was only half paying attention when flames suddenly erupted over the logs and a healthy fire began consuming them. How in the world had he started a fire that fast? Piper shook her head. Must've been a Boy Scout.

"I'll come wake you in the morning," Mikhail said as he rose and walked to the door. "But please, do not run. Between the cliffs and the fog that shrouds the shore this time of year, it isn't safe." His earnestness was so startling that she simply nodded. He lingered in the doorway, his face a mixture of doubt and worry. "Good night, little dove." Then he closed the door.

Rather than feeling safe from him, however, she felt more alone than ever.

Little dove. She hated that she liked being called that. She strained an ear to listen for a lock turning, but she heard only soft footfalls as he walked away. Piper rose from the bed and went to warm herself by the fire. Distant eerie whines trickled down the fireplace as the wind passed over the chimney outside. It reminded her of her grandmother's tales of banshees in Ireland, crying out to foretell someone's approaching death. The sound was an unearthly wail, but it was muted by the sounds of the sea.

She padded over to the window and stared out into the darkness. A car was driving away, its taillights already distant spots in the night. Belishaw had finished whatever he'd been doing, probably hiding the jewels for Mikhail before he left. They were truly alone.

Piper faced the stack of clothes and shivered again.

"Suck it up, Piper. If he wanted you dead, you'd already be in the ground," she muttered. She stripped out of her dress and donned the black T-shirt and plaid blue boxers she'd been provided. The boxers were actually just the right size for her full figure.

There was a tall wardrobe in one corner, and she couldn't resist investigating. The doors creaked, and the front panel shimmered slightly as gilded paint caught the light from the chandelier and fire. A musty smell, mixed with a lingering hint of perfume, teased her nose, making her sneeze.

Inside the armoire was a collection of clothes. They were very old but in good shape, rather than moth-eaten and faded. Piper tugged on the sleeve of a dressing gown made of red silk, causing it to fall off the hanger. She lifted it out of the armoire and glanced at the closed bedroom door before she examined the outfit.

He won't know if I just take a little look, right?

The red silk was dark, like burgundy wine, with gold embroidered dragons. She didn't know how to describe these dragons, except to say that they felt more European than Asian in design.

Her fingers traced the dragons that battled on the back of the dressing gown. Even though it was made of silk, the item was well made and warm. She shrugged it on, feeling a tad guilty, but it was freezing in the room unless she stood directly next to the fireplace. She missed her fuzzy slippers back in her hotel in London. Mikhail didn't strike her as a man to have fuzzy bunny slippers lying around to borrow.

An exhausted, hysterical giggle escaped her. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound. There was a long moment of silence in her room, broken only by logs snapping and crackling in the fireplace.

I'm losing my mind. That's it. I'm going all-out bananas. There was nothing funny about being stuck in a mansion on the Cornwall coast after being made an unwitting accomplice in a jewel heist.

Even though she was exhausted, she couldn't sleep. Piper tiptoed to the door, the dressing gown trailing behind her, the silken train whispering on the carpet, then the stones. She tested the knob, wincing as it creaked. She froze, then waited for Mikhail to come charging down the hall, but nothing happened. She opened the door and peered around it into the corridor.

The door to a room two doors down was slightly ajar. It had to be Mikhail's bedroom. Gold light could be seen, inviting her to come inside, but she ignored the lure. Strains of music drifted down the hall toward her. It sounded like Tchaikovsky. Mikhail was a classical music fan? She was as well. So few people seemed to have an appreciation for classical music anymore.

In the small blue-collar working town where she'd grown up, there hadn't been much of a chance to listen to music like that. When she'd gotten her scholarship and had taken art history and music classes for her electives, she'd discovered a beautiful, artistic world she'd never known existed. One Mikhail seemed to share.

Mikhail was so different from the men she'd known growing up. He was mysterious, worldly, completely intoxicating. That whole tall, dark stranger thing women joked about being attracted to? It was totally a real thing.

Piper walked down the hall, away from Mikhail's room, intending to explore the first floor of the house. She'd just put her foot down on the top step when an arm shot around her waist, lifting her into the air. She was jerked back against a hard male body.

"Going somewhere, little dove?" Mikhail whispered in her ear.