The Darkest of Secrets by Kate Hewitt Read Free Book Online Page B

equipment you mentioned,’ she told him, keeping her voice brisk. ‘The sooner I am able to assess whether the Leonardos are genuine, the better.’
    ‘Do you really doubt it?’
    ‘My job is to doubt it,’ Grace told him. ‘I need to prove they’re real rather than prove they’re forgeries.’
    ‘Fascinating,’ Khalis murmured. ‘A quest for truth. What drew you to such a profession?’
    ‘My father was a professor of ancient history. I grew up around antiques, spent most of my childhood in museums, except for a brief horse-mad phase when all I wanted to do was ride.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘The Fitzwilliam in Cambridge was practically a second home.’
    ‘Like father like daughter?’
    ‘Sometimes,’ Grace said, her gaze locking with his, ‘you are your father’s child in more than just blood.’
    His grey-green gaze felt like a vice on her soul, for she could not look away. It called to something deep within her, something she had suppressed for so long she barely remembered she still possessed it. The longing to be understood, the desire to be known or even revealed. And reflected back in those agate eyes she saw a strange and surprising torment of emotions: sorrow, anger, maybe even despair. Or was she simply looking into a mirror? Her head pounded with the knowledge of what she’d seen and felt, the ache increasing so she longed to close her eyes. Then he broke their gaze, averting his face, his mouth hardening as he looked out at the gardens now cloaked in darkness.
    ‘You must have some dessert,’ he finally said, and his voice was as light as ever. ‘A Tunisian speciality, almond sesame pastries.’ The young woman entered with a plate of pastries as well as a silver tray with a coffee pot and porcelain cups.
    Grace took a bite of the sticky sweet pastry, but she could not manage the coffee. Her head ached unbearably now, and she knew if she did not lie down in the dark she would be incapacitated for hours or even days. She’d had these migraines with depressing regularity, ever since her divorce. With an unsteady clatter she returned her coffee cup to its saucer. ‘I’m sorry, but I am very tired. I think I’ll go to bed.’
    Khalis rose from the table, concern darkening his eyes. ‘Of course. You look unwell. Do you have a headache?’
    Tightly Grace nodded. Spots swam in her vision and she rose from the table carefully, as if she might break. Every movement sent shafts of lightning pain through her skull.
    ‘Come.’ Khalis took her by the hand, draping his other arm around her shoulder as he led her from the table.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, but he brushed aside her apologies.
    ‘You should have told me.’
    ‘It came on suddenly.’
    ‘What do you need?’
    ‘To lie down … in the dark …’
    ‘Of course.’
    Then, to Grace’s surprise, he pulled her up into his arms, cradling her easily. ‘I apologise for the familiarity, but it is simpler and quicker this way.’ Grace said nothing, shock as well as pain rendering her speechless. In her weakened state she didn’t have the strength to draw away, nor, she realised, the will. It felt far too good to be held, her cheek pressed against the warm strength of his chest. It had been so very long since she’d been this physically close to someone, since she’d felt taken care of. And even though she knew better than to want it, knew where letting someone take care of you led, she did not even attempt to draw away. Worse, she instinctively, irresistibly nestled closer, her head tucked in the curve of his shoulder. ‘You should have told me sooner,’ he murmured, brushing a tendril of hair from her cheek, and Grace just closed her eyes. The pain in her head overwhelmed her now, making speech or even thought impossible.
    Eventually she heard a door open, felt Khalis lay her gently on a silk duvet. He left, making her feel suddenly, ridiculously bereft, only to return moments later with a cool damp cloth he laid over