The Stars Of Mithra. Nora Roberts

Flushed with pleasure, she unwrapped tissue. “Tourmaline, watermelon tourmaline—see the pinks and the greens?—and this is a lovely column of fluorite. It’s one of my favorites. I…” She trailed off, pressed a hand to her temple.

      He reached in himself, took out a stone at random. “What’s this?”

      “Alexandrite. It’s a chrysoberyl, a transparent stone. Its color changes with the light. See it’s blue-green now, in daylight, but in incandescent light it would be mauve or violet.” She swallowed hard because the knowledge was there, just there in her mind. “It’s a multipurpose stone, but scarce and expensive. It was named for Czar Alexander I.”

      “Okay, relax, take a deep breath.” He made the turn, headed down the tree-lined street. “You know your stones, Bailey.”

      “Apparently I do.”

      “And they give you a lot of pleasure.” Her face had lit up, simply glowed, when she studied his choices.

      “It scares me. The more the information crowded inside my head, the more it scared me.”

      He pulled into his driveway, turned to her. “Are you up to doing the rest of this today?”

      She could say no, she realized. He would take her inside then, inside his house, where she’d be safe. She could go up to the pretty bedroom, close herself in. She wouldn’t have to face anything but her own cowardice.

      “I want to be. I will be,” she added, and let out a long breath. “I have to be.”

      “Okay.” Reaching over, he gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Just sit here. I’ll get the diamond.”

      Westlake Jewelers was housed in a magnificent old building with granite columns and long windows draped in satin. It was not the place for bargains. The only sign was a discreet and elegant brass plate beside the arched front entrance.

      Cade drove around the back.

      “They’re getting ready to close for the day,” he explained. “If I know Muffy, she’ll have Ronald here waiting. He may not be too thrilled with me, so… Yeah, there’s his car.” Cade shot his own into a space beside a sedate gray Mercedes sedan. “You just play along with me, all right?”

      “Play along?” She wrinkled her brow as he dumped stones into her new handbag. “What do you mean?”

      “I had to spin a little story to talk her into this.” Reaching over, he opened Bailey’s door. “Just go along.”

      She got out, walked with him to the rear entrance. “It might help if I knew what I was going along with.”

      “Don’t worry.” He rang the buzzer. “I’ll handle it.”

      She shifted her now heavy bag on her shoulder.

      “If you’ve lied to your family, I think I ought to—” She broke off when the heavy steel door opened.

      “Cade.” Ronald Westlake nodded curtly. Cade had been right, Bailey thought instantly. This was not a happy man. He was average height, trim and well presented, in a dark blue suit with a muted striped tie so ruthlessly knotted she wondered how he could draw breath. His face was tanned, his carefully styled hair dark and discreetly threaded with glinting gray.

      Dignity emanated from him like light.

      “Ronald, good to see you,” Cade said cheerily, and as if Ronald’s greeting had been filled with warmth, he pumped his hand enthusiastically. “How’s the golf game? Muffy tells me you’ve been shaving that handicap.”

      As he spoke, Cade eased himself inside, much, Bailey thought, like a salesman with his foot propped in a door. Ronald continued to frown and back up.

      “This is Bailey. Muffy might have told you a little about her.” In a proprietary move, Cade wrapped his arm around Bailey’s shoulder and pulled her to his side.

      “Yes, how do you do?”

      “I’ve been keeping her to myself,” Cade added before Bailey could speak. “I guess you can see why.” Smoothly Cade tipped Bailey’s face up to his and kissed her. “I appreciate you letting us play with your equipment. Bailey’s thrilled. Sort of a busman’s holiday for her, showing me how she works with stones.” He shook her purse so that the stones inside rattled.

      “You’ve never shown any interest in gems before,” Ronald pointed out.

      “I didn’t know Bailey before,” Cade said easily. “Now, I’m fascinated. And now that I’ve talked her into staying in the States, she’s going to have to think about setting up her own little boutique. Right, sweetheart?”

      “I—”

      “England’s loss is our gain,” he continued. “And if one of the royals wants another bauble, they’ll have to come here. I’m not letting you get away.” He kissed her again, deeply, while Ronald stood huffing and tugging at his tie.

      “Cade tells me you’ve been designing jewelry for some time. It’s quite an endorsement, having the royal family select your work.”

      “It’s sort of keeping it in the family, too,” Cade said with a wink. “With Bailey’s mama being one of Di’s cousins. Was that third or fourth cousin, honey? Oh, well, what’s the difference?”

      “Third,” Bailey said, amazed at herself not only for answering, but also for infusing her voice with the faintest of upper-class British accents. “They’re not terribly close. Cade’s making too much of it. It’s simply that a few years ago a lapel pin I’d fashioned caught the eye of the Princess of Wales. She’s quite a keen shopper, you know.”

      “Yes, yes, indeed.” The tony accent had a sizable effect on a man with Ronald’s social requirements. His smile spread, his voice warmed. “I’m delighted you could stop by. I do wish I could stay, show you around.”

      “We don’t want to keep you.” Cade was already thumping Ronald on the back. “Muffy told me you’re entertaining.”

      “It’s terribly presumptuous of Cade to interrupt your holiday. I would so love a tour another time.”

      “Of course, anytime, anytime at all. And you must try to drop by the house later this evening.” Pumped up at the thought of entertaining even such a loose connection with royalty, Ronald began to usher them toward the jeweler’s work area. “We’re very select in our equipment, as well as our stones. The Westlake reputation has been unimpeachable for generations.”

      “Ah, yes.” Her heart began to thud as she studied the equipment in the glass-walled room, the worktables, the saws, the scales. “Quite top-of-the-line.”

      “We pride ourselves on offering our clientele only the best. We often cut and shape our own gems here, and employ our own lapidaries.”

      Bailey’s hand shook lightly as she passed it over a wheel. A lap, she thought, used to shape the stone. She could see just how it was done—the stone cemented to the end of a wooden stick, a dop, held against the revolving lap wheel with the aid of a supporting block adjacent to the wheel.

      She knew, could hear the sounds of it. Feel the vibrations.

      “I enjoy lap work,” Bailey said faintly. “The precision of it.”

      “I’m afraid I only admire the craftsmen and artists. That’s a stunning ring. May I?” Ronald took her left hand, examined the trio of stones arranged in a gentle curve and set in etched gold. “Lovely. Your design?”

      “Yes.” It seemed the best answer. “I particularly enjoy working with colored stones.”

      “You must see our stock sometime soon.” Ronald glanced at his watch, clucked his tongue. “I’m running quite late. The security guard will let you back out when you’re done. Please take all the time you want. I’m afraid the showroom itself is locked, time-locked, and you’ll need the guard