And all of it was magnificent, but it was to the jewellery that her gaze was drawn. There were earrings of pearl and gemstones and armbands of finely worked gold, and bracelets thick and thin, from the simple to the ornate.
And then she saw it.
No!
It shocked her into stillness.
Shocked her into denial so intense she had to close her eyes because she was sure she was imagining it.
Because the bracelet she saw in the cabinet could be hers.
She opened her eyes and it was still there.
Surely it must be hers? Because, if not, it was the closest thing to identical.
But a treasure? She’d always believed it was nothing more than a trinket. Hoped it was nothing more than a trinket. Something her great-great-great-grandmother Amber had picked up in a street market somewhere along her travels.
Oh, God.
Her eyes scanned the description.
A jewelled bracelet of gold and precious gems, ruby, sapphire, emerald and lapis lazuli, from the nineteenth century, one of a pair according to the manufacturer’s brief, made as a gift to the Sultan’s favourite. The identity of the favourite and the whereabouts of the second bracelet are unknown.
Sensation zipped down her spine, a potent combination of shock and wonder mixed with fear, holding her rooted to the spot. Because she knew the whereabouts of the other bracelet. It was secreted in a pocket of her pack in the room she shared with Kadar.
In the room that the last Amber had shared with the Sultan.
Right here.
She’d actually found her great-great-great-grandmother.
Her ancestor had been here, in this very place, and now, five generations later, she was walking in her shadows and in her footsteps.
The earlier Amber, the favourite of a sultan, no less, and the bracelets a gift from her lover. She’d taken one home and she’d left the other one here—with him?
But why would she have left and gone home to England if she loved him?
There were too many unanswered questions, too many things she still wanted to know. She searched the case, scanning its contents, looking for some other clue but there was none, just the glint of coloured stones—precious stones—in the light.
And a chilling thought occurred to her, when she realised her supposedly cheap trinket was none other than a precious Turkish antiquity.
How was she ever going to manage to leave the country with it? It was sure to be found and they would think—
‘What have you found?’
She started. She hadn’t realised he’d finished his call let alone that he’d caught up with her. How long had he been watching? For a split second she toyed with the idea of coming right out and telling him and explaining how she’d found the bracelet in her gran’s attic and she’d just found the matching one right here.
But no, she realised, because all along he hadn’t trusted her. All along he’d been looking for a reason to prove she was a thief.
He’d assume she’d stolen it, somehow from somewhere. It was better he didn’t know. Better he never found out.
‘Just some gorgeous pieces of jewellery,’ she said with a shrug, moving on along the display.
‘Show me.’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said, itching to get out of there as quickly as she could. ‘I want to see what’s on the other side of this display.’ And then get the hell back to our room and make sure the bracelet is nowhere he can stumble upon it.
For the first time in days, Kadar sensed trouble. He didn’t really need her to show him. He’d seen her staring at the piece. He’d witnessed her stillness, her intense concentration and the way her hands had balled as if she was having to stop her fingers reaching out and taking the piece.
It was no surprise what she was looking at, because it was like so many pieces that had captured her attention and turned her eyes wide at the palaces in Istanbul they’d visited. The pieces that combined beaten gold with coloured gemstones.
And he was disappointed because he’d been beginning to think that he must have been wrong, that he must have misjudged her after all.
Except here she was, her eyes greedy, her fingers twitching with excitement.
But why he should feel disappointed, when he’d always taken her for a thief—how did that work?
When had that changed?
Last night, he realised. Right about the time he’d left her arms unrestrained when he’d made love to her and she hadn’t recoiled when her fingers had touched his tortured back, and he hadn’t felt repulsed courtesy of any horrified reaction. There had been no horrified reaction.