Smith gave the man a nod and got into the elevator. Fifty-two floors up, it eased to a stop and he stepped out into a plush hallway. At the end of the corridor, he saw light spilling from a pair of doors and he went toward it, his feet silent over thick carpeting. He passed by conference rooms and offices and thought, if it weren't for the spectacular oil paintings hanging on the walls, he could have been in the executive suite of any successful corporation.
Smith slowed as he came up to the doors. Without knocking, he pushed open one side and saw her.
Silhouetted against a twinkling view of the city, the countess was wearing a red gown and facing out toward a wall of windows. The flowing silk covered her long, lean body and left her back exposed. With her hair coiled on her head, she had the graceful curves of a ballet dancer.
A howling need hit him in the gut just as she caught his reflection in the glass. He heard her breath suck in with a hiss and she seemed to take a moment to steady herself before she turned. When she did, he saw her fine features were tight with tension.
"You move so quietly," she said.
He shrugged. "No sense announcing myself with a marching band."
Her lips lifted in a smile and Smith felt his chest constrict. He wasn't someone who got preoccupied by beauty but he found himself absorbing hers through his skin. She warmed him.
He resented the effect.
"What's going on?" he said sharply.
"Have you heard the news?" The treble of fear was in her voice, making it higher than he remembered.
"About Suzanna van der Lyden?" He nodded.
She wrapped her arms around herself. As she moved, diamonds shimmered.
“I can't believe it." The countess turned back to the view, as if she didn't want him to see her struggle for self-control. "God, how her family must feel. She has a young son. Had."
Her eyes flashed over her shoulder. She measured him for a long time, as if trying to delve into the space behind his eyes, into who he was as a man.
"Can I trust you?" she asked with quiet urgency.
"With your life, Countess."
There was a pause. She turned back around to him. "My husband and I have separated. We're getting a divorce."
She watched him closely, obviously wondering whether his word was his bond or a fiction. She was no doubt worried he might go to the papers and he didn't blame her. The separation of the Count and Countess von Sharone was going to be big news.
After a moment, she continued. "I am not prepared to announce it, not until the divorce is worked out. That's why I didn't tell the police I was being followed."
"You think your husband's stalking you?"
"He might be paying someone to keep an eye on me."
"Is he still in love with you?"
She shrugged. "I doubt it. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't try and find something to use against me."
"And you?"
"Still in love? No. I married him because I was supposed to." She let out a harsh laugh. "My father liked him. My mother liked his family. I thought there were worse things in life than marrying a handsome man from a royal family."
She looked back out of the windows. "I was wrong, of course. You should never marry for anything less than love."
Smith frowned.
"No offense, Countess, but do you honestly think you can keep news like this a secret? After that wedding you had?" He remembered reading about it on a plane as he flew to God only knew where. Hundreds of the world's uber-wealthy had attended the festivities in Europe. Her dress alone had cost over $100,000 if the papers had gotten the figure right.
"There are issues here at the Foundation and I need to be perceived as strong and in charge. If news of my marriage breaking up gets out now, people are going to assume I'm on the verge of an emotional breakdown."
"Are you?"
"Do I look like a nervous wreck to you?" Her voice was steady as she met his eyes in the wall of glass.
He shook his head. In that red dress, she looked enticing as hell, that's what she looked like.
The harsh laugh came again. "Good. I've learned in the last month to relish that particular illusion."
"Why don't we sit down," he said, abruptly. "You look like you're about to fall over."
Those graceful shoulders moved back and he waited for her to fight him. She would no sooner admit she was tired than she'd let out the fear she was holding in so tightly.
But instead of arguing, she settled behind a large desk and he took a seat across from her. He waited for her to speak again, waited for her to formally ask the question he was prepared to answer.
* * *
Grace was determined not to break down in front of Smith but she felt as if she might shatter and fall to pieces at any moment.