“Brady tried to play me.” Savannah kept her tone tantalizingly neutral as she continued her search of the bag. “But I am no one’s piece to move around the board.”
That’s my phrasing, love. My way of looking at the world.“Tell me, Savannah…” Rohan sidled up beside her. “What is theboardright now?”
Savannah did her best to pretend the proximity of his body had no effect whatsoever on hers. “You indicated that Jameson Hawthorne was headed for Prague,” she said crisply. “The Mercy, I assume, is in England. The Hawthornes’ home base is in Texas. Calla Thorp vanished years ago from the oh-so-charming backwoods where we find ourselves now.”
“St. Adelaide Parish is more than backwoods,” Rohan informed her. “It also includes a rather quaint collection of towns where Calla Thorp’s family controls just about everything. The Thorps were transplants from New York in the early nineteen hundreds, old money—by American standards, at least. They bought up all the property hereabouts, razedmore than one plantation to the ground, and rebuilt the entire area to their own tastes.”
“And the duchess?” Savannah finished her search of the bag but made no move to drop it. “Where is she from?”
So demanding.That thought was a low, warm buzz in Rohan’s mind as he turned his face toward hers. “As the press tells it,That Duchessmet her duke at Oxford, where she was an international student and he was a young man no one expected to inherit a dukedom. It was, by all accounts, true love.”
“Love is a story people tell themselves in moments of weakness.” Savannah went to turn away from him, but Rohan closed his hand around the strap of the backpack, his fingers coming close to but never brushing hers.
Drop the bag and back away, love. If you dare.
Savannah didn’t back away—or down. “We’re going to need some ground rules,” she said, her voice austere, her chin angled just so. “No touching. No calling me by terms of endearment of any kind. This is a business arrangement, Rohan. I need you to take me to the duchess. You, for whatever reason, want Brady with you when you do.Business, and that is all.”
Rohan arched a brow, waiting. Expectant. “And…?” he prompted.
“And the board,” Savannah finished crisply, “is the world.”
Rohan had a sudden urge to ask:Has anyone ever promised you the world, Savannah?But instead, he snaked his free hand into the bag, his dexterous fingers probing the fabric and seams, his bodynottouching hers. A most thorough search revealed what Savannah had missed: an object sewn into the bottom of the bag.
Rohan tore the fabric—no hesitations, no regrets. Something metal fell into his hand.Something on a chain.He withdrew his hand from the bag and spread his fingers wide, presenting for Savannah’s inspection the object on his palm.
A necklace. A silver-and-gold fleur-de-lis, a highly stylized one, distinct in its proportions, an exemplary bit of craftmanship on a simple chain.
When Savannah reached to claim it, Rohan closed his fist. “Ask first, love.”
One rule broken: a term of endearment.Savannah reached to peel Rohan’s fingers back.And there’s the second. Touching.Rohan caught her wrist in his free hand.More touching.
“Show it to me,” Savannah demanded.
“Since youaskedso nicely.” Rohan let loose of her wrist and opened his fist, flipping the necklace over in his palm as he did. He’d always had a magician’s knack for presentation.
On the back of the fleur-de-lis, there was an inscription, words engraved into the metal:
Pour celui á qui il a été promis
Pour la fille qui serait reine
“For the one to whom it was promised,” Rohan translated. “For the girl who would be queen.”
“French.” Savannah reached for the necklace again, and this time, Rohan allowed her to lift it by the chain. “What do we think the chances are that this belonged to Calla Thorp?”
Chapter 9
GIGI
Just so you know, cardio is not my strong suit!” Gigi called to Knox, who wasn’t exactly making it easy to keep up with him as he pushed deeper and deeper into the bayou, skirting the water but not by much. “Lungs,” Gigi wheezed. “Hate me.”
Knox was the very picture of sympathy, empathy, and concern. “No one asked you to come with me.”
“You’re my bodyguard,” Gigi labored to remind him. “And I’m your very favorite thorn-in-side.”
Knox snorted, but he slowed his pace. Slightly. “You going to tell me why you, your sister, and that British asshole are looking for Brady?” he said.
Gigi decided to take the fact that Knox had tired of stormy silence as a good thing. “Are you going to tell me when your birthday is?” she countered.