Her Passionate Protector. Laurey Bright

there was no sanctuary in a man’s arms. That the only person she could rely on to look after her was herself.

      Regarding her thoughtfully, Camille evidently decided not to comment. “It’s only about two weeks since you came out of hospital. You would have said, wouldn’t you, if you weren’t up to being my bridesmaid?”

      “I told you,” Sienna replied, “it’s a pleasure. I didn’t want to miss it.” In truth, the pleasure was mixed with concern on her friend’s behalf. Impressed despite herself by Camille’s steadfast certainty, she hadn’t dared voice her own reservations.

      A little later they went upstairs and Camille shed her wedding gown in favor of more practical cotton pants and a shirt. Most of the wedding party then decamped along the foreshore to see the newlyweds aboard the Sea-Rogue for their short honeymoon cruise, and as the boat slipped out of its berth some of the onlookers threw streamers across the widening gap and Camille tossed her bouquet to the wharf.

      Sienna stepped back, her hands resolutely at her sides, but Granger deftly caught it, and when he presented it to her with one of his grave smiles and a faintly lifted eyebrow, she could hardly refuse to take the flowers.

      Back at the hotel Granger told Sienna, “I’ve booked us a table for dinner here at seven-thirty. Camille’s mother and some other people will be joining us.”

      Supposing that entertaining Mona Hartley was part of her bridal-attendant duties, Sienna said, “I’ll get changed and meet you in the dining room later.”

      In her bathroom she freed her hair from its knot of curls and brushed it out, hoping it wouldn’t spring back into its usual wild corkscrews too quickly. The floor creaked as she crossed the old kauri boards to her suitcase and pulled out a plain sand-colored skirt and a sleeveless cream top embroidered with amber beads. The mirror in which she checked her appearance before going downstairs had a heavy carved wooden frame on which stylized Maori patterns were mixed with depictions of roses and lilies.

      At the foot of the stairs she saw Brodie, one hand thrust into a pocket of his dark trousers, his collar open and his jacket slung across one shoulder. He watched her descend, his gaze swiftly encompassing her from head to toe and returning to her face with a gleam of masculine appreciation lurking in the vivid depths, and she wished she’d thought to take the old elevator instead, but for only one floor it hadn’t seemed worth it.

      “Ready for your dinner?” he asked her.

      “I’m having it with Granger,” she said coolly, fighting a ridiculous sense of pleasure at the way his hair gleamed in the light from a chandelier overhead, the blond streaks turning to gold.

      “I know. Me too,” he replied, walking at her side as she made for the dining room. “I offered to wait for you.”

      She wasn’t late, but when they entered, two women already sat with Granger at the round table—Camille’s mother and another middle-aged woman.

      Mona looked pinched and put upon—not unusual in Sienna’s experience. The other woman, whom Granger smoothly introduced as Mollie Edwards, a good friend of his and Rogan’s late father, was cozily rounded with brass-colored curls framing her rather overpainted face, and a wide smile.

      Sienna took to her immediately, but to help Granger out—and also to avoid having to talk too much to Brodie, whose presence she was all too conscious of at her side—she devoted a good deal of her attention during the meal to Mona. The woman had just seen her only child marry a man Sienna had a strong hunch she didn’t approve of. Though it seemed that Mollie’s presence had more to do with Mona’s offended air than did the loss of her daughter.

      Granger occasionally caught Sienna’s eye with a hint of grateful appreciation in the turquoise depths of his, and attempted to keep the conversation general around the table.

      Brodie had discarded his suit and wore casual gray pants and a T-shirt. When his bare arm brushed against hers as he reached for salt, Sienna felt as though the tiny hairs on her skin had been charged with a current of electricity. It must be the dry seaside air, she thought, confused. The same phenomenon that caused her clothes to crackle sometimes when she shed them.

      Mollie was excited that Rogan and his brother, along with Camille who had inherited half of the Sea-Rogue, were planning to raise the treasure their late father had discovered. “Barney always knew he’d find it someday.” She wiped a small tear from her eye with her table napkin.

      Mona gave a scornful little laugh. “I have my doubts about this whole thing.” She speared a piece of fish on her plate. “Camille won’t even tell me what all the excitement is about. After all,” she complained, “my husband was Barney’s partner, I think I’m entitled.”

      Granger studied her for a moment, then said quietly, “I’m sure you can keep a secret, Mona. Rogan’s already recovered coins and a few pieces of jewelry from the wreck Barney found. The cargo, if we can recover it, could be worth a great deal.”

      Brodie swallowed a mouthful of his rare steak. “Even passengers’ effects might bring in quite a lot of money, coming from a historic wreck.”

      Mona sniffed. “What difference can that make?”

      Granger explained, “Sunken treasure accrues value from its history. A romantic shipwreck story and a certificate of authenticity make for a better price at auction.”

      Sienna commented, “It’s an artificial inflation. Part of this whole business of commercial treasure hunting.”

      Brodie turned to her. “Can you give an expert opinion,” he asked her, “on the possible worth of the pieces Rogan had?”

      She had to meet his eyes, finding them blindingly blue and disconcertingly close. She could see her own face reflected in them, giving her an odd feeling of unwanted intimacy. For a moment she couldn’t recall what the conversation was about. Pulling herself together, she said, “The brief I was given was to try to find out where and when they were made, to help identify the wreck. I’m sure Rogan and Granger will get the highest prices possible.”

      Mollie’s look at Sienna was disappointed. “You sound as though you disapprove.”

      Brodie said, sounding amused, “Sienna’s suspicious of treasure hunters.” His eyes teased her, still holding her gaze until she wrenched it away as Mollie spoke to her.

      “Why?” Mollie asked. “You’re too young to be bitter and twisted about it.” She directed a meaningful look at Mona, who almost choked on another morsel of fish.

      Granger’s gaze went to Sienna. “I’m sure you have good reasons. Would you like to tell us what they are?”

      Sienna suspected he knew very well, or could at least make an educated guess. But the men obviously hoped, by throwing Sienna into the arena, to avoid open female warfare.

      Ignoring the over-respectful look that Brodie turned on her, she said, “Old shipwrecks contain a lot of information about life in former times. Ships might remain preserved in mud or sand for centuries, until someone disturbs that protection and leaves them open to decay.”

      Beside her Brodie moved slightly, and she heard him take in a breath as though about to say something, but without giving him the chance, she continued defiantly, “Nothing should be removed from a wreck before an archaeological survey is conducted and the site properly mapped.”

      Mollie looked dubious. Brodie tipped his chair and hooked one arm over the back of it to lazily study Sienna. He said, “It costs a hell of a lot to salvage a wreck properly. Even archaeologists aren’t keen on going ahead without hard evidence that it’s going to be worthwhile. And most of them don’t have the money or expertise to do it.”

      Mona gave a genteel snort, perhaps of corroboration.

      “It seems to be a constant dilemma,” Granger agreed, confirming Sienna’s suspicion that he hadn’t needed to be informed of the problem. “It’s only by bringing in investors that anyone can exploit a remote, difficult wreck—and investors expect a