Prince Of Lies

From the top of his blue-black head to the soles of his feet he was all edged, confident masculinity, but it was a masculinity tight-leashed by an almost inhuman will.

‘Who are you?’ she blurted.

Apparently not in the least affected by her bold survey, he’d waited until she spoke. At her question his lashes drooped, and a smile, mockingly amused, curved his mouth.

‘Duke,’ he said laconically, and to her astonishment held out his hand.

Most men looked stupid with a hand held out, a hand that was ignored. This one didn’t; completely relaxed, he merely waited. Once more Stephanie glimpsed a monumental, hard-headed patience that sent a cold shiver flicking down her spine as she reluctantly accepted his invitation. She had long fingers and a strong grip, but in his clasp her hand seemed small and white and powerless.

‘You know who I am,’ she said uncertainly.

‘We haven’t been introduced.’

Later she would wonder whether he had enough intuition to realise that this introduction was a wiping clean of all that had happened previously, and even before entertaining the idea would dismiss it. In spite of his care of her the preceding night he’d been more forceful than sensitive, and his abrupt rejection in the morning hadn’t revealed any insight or empathy at all.

At that moment, however, saying her name, asserting an identity, was a reclaiming of something that the calculated inhumanity of her imprisonment had taken from her.

‘Stephanie Jerrard,’ she said, and her head came up. While they shook hands she asked, ‘Just Duke?’ and thought how strange it was that she had called him a prince, an ice-prince. He looked more like a prince than a duke, and yet the name suited his careless arrogance.

‘That’s all you need to know,’ he said, an indifferent note in his voice warning her off.

As their hands fell away he ordered curtly, ‘The windows look out over the valley, so the only people we have to worry about are ones with binoculars on the far side. Still, remember that if anyone does see you here word may reach the men who kidnapped you.’

At her involuntary shiver he nodded, pale eyes ranging her face. ‘And if that happens we could lose not only the small men but those who gave the orders. Then there are your brother’s negotiations; while you’re thought to be safely stashed he’s working from a position of power. If we can fool them into thinking that you’re still their pawn, we’re going to catch them all, including the ones who’ve kept their fingers clean.’

‘I only saw two men. What makes you think there might be others?’ she asked swiftly, striving to hide the sick panic that clutched her for an unnerving moment.

Broad shoulders lifted in a gesture oddly at variance with his poised, controlled persona. ‘Rumours,’ he said without expression, his eyes searching her face keenly. ‘I need to know everything you can remember about the kidnapping.’

‘Now?’ she asked, realising that she was still in the thick T-shirt she’d worn as a nightgown. From the way it slid down over her shoulders it was one of his.

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