He knew too much about her, he thought. Too many details that he had no business knowing. She liked her bathwater too hot, collected old pictures of people she didn’t know. She’d once had a secret dream to dance with the Ballet Royal. When she’d been fifteen, she’d wondered if she was in love with a young gardener.

He knew before she did those foolish little details of her life. He’d stolen them from her, out of diaries he’d read to do a job. When she remembered all, when she looked at him then, how much would she resent the intrusion?

He knew now the two people who’d kidnapped her, changed her life, stolen her past. He knew who they were and why they’d done so. For her sake, he couldn’t tell her yet. He could only watch and protect. And when she knew all, when she looked at him then, how much would she resent the deception?

How could he tell her that two people close to her, two people she trusted, had plotted against her? Used her? It might ease his conscience, but what would it do to Brie?

He’d gone past the point where he’d take any chances.

He heard the door to the bedroom open and paused with the earring still in his hand.

“Yes, thank you, Bernadette. If you’ll just run the bath. I’ll see to my own hair. We’re dining en famille tonight.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He heard the maid move quietly into the bath, then the water striking porcelain. He imagined Brie undressing. Slowly. Unbuttoning the tailored little blouse he’d seen her put on that morning. Odd, he realized. He’d seen her dress in the mornings they’d woken together. But he’d never seen her undress. When he came to her she was already in a robe or nightgown. Or waiting naked in the bed.

Suddenly driven, he set down the earring and crossed into the bedroom.

She was standing in front of the mirror, but she hadn’t removed her clothes. There was a small porcelain box on her dresser with the lid off. She took pins from it, one by one, and swept up her hair.

She was thinking, but not, he realized, about what she was doing. Her eyes weren’t focused on the reflection. But she was smiling, just a little, as if she were content. It wasn’t often she smiled like that.

The maid came out to take a robe out of the closet. If she noticed Reeve in the sitting-room doorway, she gave no sign. As she laid the robe on the bed, Brie fastened the last pin.

“Thank you, Bernadette. I won’t need you any more tonight. Tomorrow,” she went on with a quick grin, “I’ll exhaust you.”

The maid curtsied. Reeve waited. The maid shut the door quietly behind her. Still, he waited. Brie put the top back on the box, running her finger over the porcelain when it was in place. With a little sigh, she stepped out of her shoes and stretched, eyes closed. Turning away from the mirror, she went to a small cabinet and switched on the CD player concealed inside. The music that came out was quiet, sultry. Something heard through open windows on summer nights. She unhooked her trim gray trousers, let them fall to the floor, then stepped out of them. While Reeve watched, she bent to pick them up, ran a hand down to smooth them and set them on the bed.