“I say we go find the mysterious Rowena and get some answers. We stick together, right?” Dana nodded at Malory, then Zoe.
Zoe swallowed. “Honey, I’m your new best friend.” To seal it, she took Dana’s hand, then Malory’s.
“How lovely to see you.”
Their hands were still joined as they turned and looked at the man who stood in the archway.
He smiled, stepped inside the room. “Welcome to Warrior’s Peak.”
Chapter Two
FOR a moment Malory thought one of the warriors from the gate had come to life. He had the same fierce male beauty in his face, the same powerful build. His hair, black as the storm, waved back in wings from that strong, sculpted face.
His eyes were midnight blue. She felt the power of them, a flash of heat along her skin, when they met hers.
She wasn’t a fanciful woman. Anything but, she told herself. But the storm, the house, the sheer ferocity of that gaze made her feel as though he could see everything in her mind. Everything that had ever been in her mind.
Then his gaze left hers, and the moment passed.
“I am Pitte. Thank you for gracing what is, for now, our home.”
He took Malory’s free hand, lifted it to his lips. His touch was cool, the gesture both courtly and dignified. “Miss Price.” She felt Zoe’s fingers go lax on hers, then Pitte was moving to her, lifting her fingers in turn. “Miss McCourt.” And Dana’s. “Miss Steele.”
A boom of thunder had Malory jolting, and her hand groped for Zoe’s again. He was just a man, she assured herself. It was just a house. And someone had to get everything back on an even keel.
“You have an interesting home, Mr. Pitte,” she managed.
“Yes. Won’t you sit? Ah, Rowena. You’ve met my companion.” He took Rowena’s arm when she came to his side.
They fit, Malory decided, like two halves of a coin.
“By the fire, I think,” Rowena said, gesturing toward the fireplace. “Such a fierce night. Let’s be comfortable.”
“I think we’d be more comfortable if we understood what’s going on.” Dana planted her high-heeled boots and stood her ground. “Why we were asked here.”
“Certainly. But the fire’s so lovely. There’s nothing quite like good champagne, good fellowship, and a nice fire on a stormy night. Tell me, Miss Price, what do you think of what you’ve seen of our art collection?”
“Impressive. Eclectic.” With a glance back at Dana, Malory let Rowena lead her toward a chair near the fire. “You must have spent considerable time on it.”
Rowena’s laugh rippled like fog over water. “Oh, considerable. Pitte and I appreciate beauty, in all its forms. In fact, you could say we revere it. As you must, given your choice of profession.”
“Art is its own reason.”
“Yes. It’s the light in every shadow. And Pitte, we must make certain Miss Steele sees the library before the evening’s over. I hope you’ll approve.” She gestured absently at the servant who entered with a crystal champagne bucket. “What would the world be without books?”
“Books are the world.” Curious, cautious, Dana sat.
“I think there’s been a mistake.” Zoe hung back, looking from face to face. “I don’t know anything about art. Not real art. And books—I mean, I read, but—”
“Please, sit.” Pitte nudged her gently into a chair. “Be at home. I trust your son is well.”
She stiffened, and those tawny eyes went tiger-bright. “Simon’s fine.”
“Motherhood’s a kind of art, don’t you think, Miss McCourt? A work in progress of the most essential, most vital kind. One that requires valor and heart.”
“Do you have children?”
“No. I haven’t been given that gift.” His hand brushed Rowena’s as he spoke, then he lifted his glass. “To life. And all its mysteries.” His eyes gleamed over the rim of the glass. “There’s no need to fear. No one here wishes you anything but health, happiness, and success.”