Mistresses: Blackmailed With Diamonds / Shackled with Rubies. Robyn Donald

he growled softly and she gave a humourless laugh.

      ‘On the contrary, I think I’m just establishing the facts for the first time. Answer me a question, Mr Kyriacou. Did you love my sister?’

      His hesitation answered the question. ‘We had an understanding, ’ he said finally and she nodded.

      ‘I’m sure you did. My sister was young and very easily seduced by the prospect of money and romance. She would have been easy prey for a sophisticated man of your experience.’

      ‘I refuse to discuss the circumstances of your sister’s death any further,’ he growled and she had some satisfaction in noticing that his icy cool had finally melted away to be replaced by simmering anger. ‘All you need to know is that the diamond did not belong to her.’

      And clearly he wanted it back.

      Aware that she now had the power to make his life extremely uncomfortable, Angie felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. The fact that he had shown absolutely no emotion towards her sister and yet now seemed increasingly tense, merely supported her poor opinion of him. He was a man interested in money, power and possessions. Nothing more. He cared more about the loss of the diamond than he did about the loss of her sister. That, he’d made clear, was nothing more than an inconvenience for him. Had the diamond not been around her sister’s neck when she’d died, Angie had absolutely no doubt that he wouldn’t have bothered to make this visit and the knowledge increased her own anger. He should be made to care.

      ‘But if she was wearing it the night of her death, the night she fell from your balcony, then presumably you must have given it to her. And what was it you just said?’ She frowned slightly, pretending to think, drawing out the confrontation with relish. ‘That it was a symbol of love, given to the “woman of your heart”? Presumably that’s why Tiffany sent that text. She knew that once she was wearing the famed necklace, her future as your wife was surely secure.’

      Nikos Kyriacou walked towards her, his brooding dark gaze intent on her face. ‘Tell me, Dr Littlewood, when you find something of the past—’ he lifted a fragment of pottery from her desk and turned it slowly in his fingers ‘—do you presume to immediately know its authenticity?’

      She frowned. ‘Of course not. We have several techniques for dating objects and for establishing use and value.’

      He brushed a finger over the surface of the fragment that he still held, examining the pattern closely. ‘So you would agree that something is not always as it seems? That fakes and frauds do sometimes make an appearance in this less than perfect world of ours?’

      ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘And, as an academic, part of your job is to explore the truth behind the facts, is it not?’ He placed the fragment back on her desk with exaggerated care. ‘Not to judge by appearances, as so many less informed and less educated people might?’

      Reminded that her approach to life was to search for evidence before drawing conclusions, Angie felt a flash of discomfort and then reminded herself that Nikos Kyriacou was playing games with her again, manipulating her with words. He’d probably done exactly the same to her sister. According to her mother, he negotiated billion dollar deals on a regular basis so he was obviously skilled at twisting a situation to his advantage, which was clearly what he’d done with Tiffany. She had no intention of allowing him to do the same with her. It was true that she’d dealt with this whole situation in an emotional way that was completely out of character, but given the circumstances was that really so surprising? And anyway, she wasn’t just judging on appearances. She knew Tiffany.

      ‘My sister was in love with you. I have a text from her that indicates her sincere belief that you intended to marry her. I now discover that she was wearing your diamond—your rare and precious diamond given to the woman of your heart. And yet you try and persuade me that appearances can delude?’ She rose to her feet again, so angry that she could barely speak. ‘Allow me to tell you that although appearances can mislead, they can also be astonishingly accurate. Things often turn out to be exactly as they first seem.’

      ‘The diamond did not belong to your sister.’ His tone was a low, threatening growl and for a moment she almost imagined that she could see the dangerous claws unsheathed from those soft, deadly paws.

      ‘And yet she died wearing it and in love with you. The facts appear to speak for themselves, wouldn’t you agree?’

      Clearly goaded to the limits of his patience, he inhaled sharply and proceeded to let out a stream of Greek that he incorrectly assumed she wouldn’t understand.

      Slightly smug that his research into her background had failed to reveal that she was fluent in his language, Angie kept her eyes on the desk and waited for him to calm down. Had he spoken in English, the words he’d used would have made her blink with shock but, as it was, the fact that he was capable of losing his temper gave her considerable satisfaction and slightly soothed her own frayed emotions. At least he was capable of feeling something, even if it was only anger and frustration that she was proving to be so uncooperative.

      He planted both hands on her desk and fixed her with his unusually penetrating gaze. ‘You must understand that the retrieval of this diamond is extremely important to my family.’

      Should she reveal that she spoke Greek? Deciding not, Angie gave a faint smile.

      ‘And you must understand that my sister’s death is extremely important to mine.’ She looked up then, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘Do you notice the fundamental difference between us, Mr Kyriacou? Your focus is on objects and mine is on people. I may study ancient artefacts but those artefacts tell us a great deal about people and the way they lived, just as your desire for this diamond says a great deal about you. When you first arrived I assumed that you had come to offer explanation and seek forgiveness but now I discover that you merely wanted to collect lost property.’

      There was no longer a trace of the ice cool restraint that had been so much in evidence when he’d first arrived. Instead his dark eyes flashed dangerously and his mouth hardened. He looked like a volcano on the brink of eruption. And that was a place that no sensible being would want to be.

      Her legs shaking and her stomach churning, Angie picked up her bag and walked towards the door, unaccustomed to conflict and anxious to end the encounter. ‘Thank you for taking the trouble to visit me personally, Mr Kyriacou. It was a most illuminating conversation.’

      She battled through the rain and a tube train crowded with tourists and arrived home to find the house unusually silent. One glance at the empty sherry bottle on the kitchen table was enough to tell her how her mother had spent the day. Presumably she was now in bed, sleeping off the excess of alcohol she’d consumed.

      Drained and exhausted from her confrontation with Nikos Kyriacou, Angie stripped off her wet coat and immediately made for the attic where she knew her mother had stowed the suitcase that had been returned to them from Greece. The suitcase containing her sister’s belongings.

      The attic was dusty and crammed with bits of old abandoned furniture and tattered boxes but she saw the suitcase immediately and paused with her hand on the zip, emotions churning inside her. Her mother hadn’t even opened it and she couldn’t blame her for that. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to doing either.

      Her mind went to the myth of Pandora who had been instructed not to open the box under any circumstances. Yet the temptation had proved too great and she’d released terrible forces into the world. Angie chewed her lip, unable to bring herself to open the suitcase. Would it contain something she’d wish she’d never seen? Would her life be changed?

      Impatient with the ridiculous flight of her habitually over-active imagination, Angie sucked in a breath and unzipped the case. The first thing she saw as she lifted the lid was a glittery piece of fabric designed to be used as a wrap. It was so typical of her sister’s flamboyant taste that she gave a faint smile. Then she put her hand in the case again and pulled out her sister’s handbag. It was badly stained and Angie felt her stomach lurch. It must have been