The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (65 page)

By the time she’d downed the contents of the glass, a warm fuzzy sense of unreality filled her head. “You look so much like your father. I’m finding it difficult to . . .” She rubbed her temples. “Maybe if you tell me your name it’ll help.”

He rose, placed her glass on a silver tray, then stared out the window for a few seconds, his shoulders tense. “It’s Christian, I’m afraid . . . after my father.”

Tricia’s sense of unease flared again as this young Christian, who could have stepped out of her dreams, turned to look at her. For long moments, his emerald gaze perused her face, her body, as if he wanted to memorize her. “Still so beautiful,” he said softly.

Her breath escaped on a tiny gasp. “What?”

He curved an elegant hand towards the photo. “Compared to your picture, Madame, you’ve aged well, like a fine wine.”

Her heart tripped, flickers of awareness racing through her in response to his appreciative gaze. She stared at her hands gripped tightly in her lap. Being attracted to this man was wrong. He was little more than a teenager; the son of the man she’d loved.

He picked up her briefcase and placed it beside her chair, then sat before her again, suddenly all business. “If you’re recovered from your shock, perhaps you’d like to tell me why you came all this way to see me.”

“I came to see your father.”

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I might be able to help you.”

He must have inherited his father’s possessions. Perhaps he would recognize the
objet d’art
about which she wanted information.

A sense of purpose infused Tricia as she unfastened her briefcase. She took out the photograph of the strange transparent pyramid that had been bequeathed to the Institute. “We can’t find anyone who knows what this is.” She handed the photo to Christian. “The base of the object is twenty-four inches square and the thing’s very heavy. There appear to be flames inside it, but it must be a clever special effect. I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me what it is because I saw something similar here years ago.”

“When?” The young Comte’s gaze snapped up from the image and pinned her in place. His eyes flickered like green fire. For the first time in years, Tricia’s cheeks grew hot. This young man hadn’t even been born on the day she’d crept into the chateau uninvited, hoping to beg Christian to take her back. She had found no sign of the man she loved, but the memory of the mysterious pyramid full of green fire that she’d found in his bedroom was seared into her mind.

“Years ago.” She pushed away her sense of embarrassment and tapped a finger on the photograph. “The pyramid the Institute has contains blue fire rather than green, apart from that, it’s the same as the object I saw here. The transparent material is definitely not glass, it’s crystalline.”

The Comte’s gaze had fallen to the image again. Now his eyes rose to interrogate her with an authority that looked strange for one so young. “Has anyone touched it?”

Tricia nodded. “Of course. It’s been uncrated and examined.”

“Did
you
touch it?”

A tremor of apprehension passed through her at the alarm in his voice.

“Why shouldn’t I touch it? It’s fascinating. The flame inside looks real, but the pyramid appears to be sealed. Real fire can’t burn without oxygen.”

The Comte banged his fist on the arm of his chair, making her jump. “
Ça alors
! After all I gave up to protect you.”

“What are you talking about?” Christian’s son hadn’t done anything to protect her. She hadn’t met him until today.

“Where is the
ben ben
?” At her frown, he gestured impatiently at the photograph. “I mean the pyramid, Tricia, where is it?”

“In the secure area beneath the gallery at the Bristol Institute of Art.”

“I need to see it.”

Tricia found herself shaking her head in confusion. “Can’t you just explain what this
ben ben
is? Once I know, the Institute can value it and decide whether or not to put it on display.”

“The
ben ben
must be kept hidden.” The Comte surged to his feet, paced to the door and wrenched it open. “Remy!” When Monsieur Benoit hurried up, Christian issued rapid instructions in French. Then he returned to her and stared intently at the pyramid’s photograph. “We depart for England immediately. You will not leave my sight, Tricia. We’re lucky you have not already been claimed.”

Tricia rose to her feet unsteadily. Irritation stirred across her shocked thoughts. The emotional meeting and his strange reaction had left her shaken, but she did not intend to let this young upstart take over and treat her like an idiot. “You’re welcome to come and view the pyramid, my lord, but I can look after myself. There’s no reason why I should be in danger.”

“Non?”
His breath hissed out between his teeth. He closed his eyes for a second and flexed his shoulders, making a visible effort to relax. When his eyes opened again, he surprised her by reaching for her hand. He raised her knuckles to his lips and pressed a warm kiss to them.

Streamers of tickly heat fluttered through her belly, leaving her breathless with mortification at her response. She must not react to him like this. She was old enough to be his mother.

His glittering green gaze caressed her face and a tiny smile caught at the corners of his mouth. “My noble intentions are undone,
mon amour.
I gave you up to protect you from danger, but danger has found you anyway. I should be sorry, but my heart sings now fate has given you back to me.”

Two

Christian piloted the helicopter from France to Bristol Airport in the UK. The emotional roller coaster of the last few hours had left Tricia lightheaded. Was it only this morning that she’d set out from her hotel in the pretty French market town of Montgatine?

Could this young Comte really be the man she’d lost her heart to twenty-two years ago?

Dusk had fallen by the time they landed. After their passports had been checked, Christian guided her to a black limousine and they headed off to the Institute of Art.

Tricia huddled in a corner of the back seat, staring at Christian, confusion unravelling her thoughts. The highlights in his hair shone guinea gold in contrast to the black trousers and black leather jacket he’d donned for their night foray. He smiled, his green eyes glittering with gold flecks. Instead of taking the far seat, he slid up beside her as the car moved off. “I’m sorry to have upset you. Do you forgive me?”

A tight little laugh burst from her throat. “No! You lied to me.” She’d thought she knew the man she loved but she hadn’t known him at all.

He gave a small resigned nod of understanding. “I did not break up with you because you were immature as I alleged but because I wanted to protect you from the dangers in my life.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not immature now. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

He took one of her hands and gripped it tightly in his warm palm. “Believe me, looks can be deceiving.”

“I’m forty. You were masquerading as twenty-one a few hours ago. That makes me old enough to be your mother.”

“You’d have been a very young mother,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Stop splitting hairs.” She yanked her hand away from him. Despite her protestations, she felt more like an ignorant child. “Why haven’t you aged?”

He angled his head, searching her face for her reaction as he answered. “I do age. My secret is that I can renew myself.”

“Huh? So you’ve discovered an elixir of eternal youth?” Sarcasm edged her words.

“I renew myself with fire, Tricia. The fire inside the crystal pyramid you have at the Institute of Art is the life essence of a man like me. My race was at its most powerful in ancient Egypt. We’re the Sons of Ra.”

His words zapped her befuddled brain to full alert. Her job had taught her a lot about Egyptian history. Ra the sun god was supposed to die every evening when the sun went down only to be reborn when the sun rose again in the morning. His followers had worshipped him in a temple called the Mansion of the Phoenix.

Sun, fire, rebirth.

Her breath trembled. Was Christian telling the truth?

If she believed him, then that meant the transparent pyramid in the Institute’s basement contained the essence of a man. It also meant that the green fire she’d seen in the pyramid in Christian’s room all those years ago had been his life essence. The idea was impossible to comprehend.

Full dark had fallen by the time the limousine drew up outside the Institute. Tricia stepped out into the pool of illumination beneath a street light. Panic caught in her throat as she mounted the steps to the impressive entrance of the Victorian building. She retrieved her keycard from her purse and swiped it before tapping in the access code.

Christian glanced over his shoulder then followed her into the building. The security lights blinked on when they sensed movement. “Make sure you lock this door behind us,” he instructed.

The serious tone of his voice made her pause to stare at him. “Are you expecting some kind of trouble?”

“Let us say it pays to be careful.”

Christian prowled around, his gaze darting down the shadowy side corridors. How had she ever fallen for the story that he was only twenty-one? Everything about him screamed experience and power. He returned to her and placed a hand on her back. “Take me to the
ben ben.”

“I need to check in with security first.”

Christian gave a single nod. “I’ll come with you.”

Even the hollow sound of Christian’s footsteps behind her held the ring of authority.

Once the guard had deactivated the alarm system on the basement level, Tricia led Christian down the narrow stairs that had originally been used by domestic staff back in the days when the building had been a private mansion.

“The
ben ben
didn’t come down these stairs. Is there another way in?” Christian asked.

“The old servant’s entrance gives access at basement level. The doorway’s been enlarged to allow crates to be delivered that way.”

“How are the objects in the basement moved up to the gallery?”

“There’s a service elevator.”

Christian paused at the foot of the stairs to glance around. “Any other exits? Maybe doors that aren’t normally used.”

“There’s a fire door on every floor, leading to the fire escape at the back of the building. Except on this level.”

He gave another of his quick nods. “Show me the
ben ben
, please.”

Tricia stared at him while his gaze tracked around the space. His eyes glowed an inhuman golden green in the muted light. That did more to convince her he had told the truth about the Sons of Ra than anything he’d said. “What will you do with the pyramid?”

“I’ll decide when I see it.”

Not the answer for which she’d hoped. She just wanted him to crate the thing up and take it away so she could be done with all this weirdness.

She led him into the assessment room where all new pieces of doubtful origin were checked before being logged on to the system. So far, the only official record of the pyramid was a delivery note.

Tricia snapped over ten switches on the lighting control panel. Spotlights beamed on to the transparent pyramid in the centre of the room.

Christian stilled beside her. For long seconds he didn’t even appear to breathe. The blue-tinged flames in the heart of the artifact danced and flickered, as real as any fire she’d ever seen. “
Merde
. That shade of blue belongs to Benedict Rothswell’s family.”

A jolt of shock rooted Tricia to the spot. She sucked in a breath. He couldn’t mean . . . “Are you talking about the Duke of Buckland?”

Christian wheeled around to face her. “You know him?”

“He’s the Institute’s patron. He owns this building.” She flung out an arm to indicate the mansion. “He owns half of Bristol actually.”

“And you touched the
ben ben?”
Christian’s gaze narrowed. “We have a serious problem.”

“I have to concur, Lefevre,” a deep masculine voice said. “I take a very dim view of your entering my territory without invitation, or even permission.”

The smooth, deep baritone of The Duke of Buckland made Tricia turn, her heart thumping. “Your Grace. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.” She winced inwardly at the stupid comment. He’d obviously arrived unannounced in the middle of the night to avoid discovery.

The duke’s flaring blue gaze made her step back. She’d met him five times as part of the management team welcoming him to an event at the Institute, and they had never exchanged more than a polite greeting. Tall, with hair the colour of polished ebony, and a cut-glass British accent, he exuded breeding and authority from every inch of his powerful frame. He had the compelling attraction of a large predator. He strode purposefully towards her.

Christian was suddenly in front of her, blocking her view of the duke, yet she hadn’t even seen him move. “She’s mine, Rothswell.”

“You haven’t claimed her yet, Lefevre and she’s in my domain. Ergo, she is mine.”

“I discovered her twenty years ago.”