‘I’d better go. But you’ll stay, won’t you?’
She nodded slowly and watched him leave and then, sighing, she fell back onto the pillows.
* * *
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep again. But somehow she had. It was the second time she had woken up in Laszlo’s bed. Only this time she was alone in his room, and she felt his absence like an ache inside. Hugging his jumper against her body, she drew some comfort from his scent, and then rolling over, she gazed around the room.
It was a beautiful room, with high ceilings and deep, wide-set windows. Unlike all the other rooms she’d seen at the castle, there were no paintings or mirrors on the pale grey walls and it was sparsely furnished. Just an armchair, the curved wooden bed she was lying on and a chest of drawers.
And then she noticed the photograph.
For a moment, she stared at it blankly, wondering why she hadn’t noticed it before, for it was the only ornament in the room. Then, pushing back the sheets, she walked across the carpet and, feeling slightly guilty, reached out and touched the framed black and white photograph.
Her mind was humming. Thoughts and feelings were buzzing through her head. And then she breathed in sharply. The two people in the photograph were Laszlo’s parents. She was sure of it. The family resemblance was there in every line and curve of their faces. They were so beautiful, so young. But what drew her eye was not their youth or beauty—it was the intensity of their focus. They literally seemed to have eyes for no one but each other.
Prudence swallowed. She had never seen a photo of her own parents together. In fact, the only picture she had of her father was from a newspaper. Someone—probably Aunt Daisy—had cut out the report of a trial involving her father. She’d found it, yellowing and fading, hidden inside a book.
She was gazing so intently at the photograph that she didn’t hear Laszlo come in.
‘Pick it up, if you want.’
Jumping slightly at the sound of his voice, she turned round, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. ‘You always seem to catch me snooping,’ she grumbled.
Watching her worry the soft flesh of her lower lip, he felt a sudden twitch of desire. Even wearing his tatty jumper, with her hair tousled from sleep and her pink mouth bruised from his kisses, she looked sexier than hell.
He gave her a faint smile. ‘Snooping...breaking and entering? Prudence, I have a feeling you’re not in Surrey any more!’
There was a short, tense silence and then he reached out for her as she stepped towards him and they kissed fiercely.
Lifting his head, he dragged his mouth away from hers. ‘I missed you.’ He felt her arms tighten around him.
‘I missed you too,’ she murmured, burying her face against his chest.
Finally she gestured towards the photograph and frowned.
‘Sorry...’ She hesitated. ‘They’re your parents, aren’t they?’
He nodded slowly, his golden eyes
studying her warily. ‘Yes.’
‘Is that before or after they were married?’
‘After,’ he said shortly.
She wanted to ask more, but the brusqueness of his tone seemed to discourage any more talk in that direction, so instead she glanced around the room and said lightly, ‘It’s not how I expected it to look. Your room, I mean.’
‘What were you expecting? Shawls and knick-knacks and bargeware?’ Seeing from her guilty expression that she had, he grimaced and shook his head. ‘I’ve had my fill of castles and roses—excuse the pun. But why do you care what my room looks like?’ And then he frowned. ‘Oh, I get it. You think it somehow reflects my soul.’
His earlier tension seemed to have shifted and his eyes were laughing down at her.
She blushed. ‘I did an Art History degree, remember? I can find tragedy and torment in two squares of maroon and red.’
Grinning, he took her hand and held it against his lips. ‘So what do you think my room says about me?’
She lifted her head. ‘I think it says you ran out of picture hooks. Either that or you’re a philistine.’
She yelped as he made a grab for her.