“Bennett, I’m sorry.” She’d forgotten there could be no apologies, no regret. His eyes were on hers, blank and flat, as he sat up. Because there was nothing for her to say, no way for her to remove the barrier, she lapsed into silence.

Her hair was a riot of honey-toned waves that fell over her shoulders and the silk that echoed the color. Her eyes, darkly, richly green, were solemn now as she waited for him to speak. Or to leave.

Fighting the first stirrings of anger, he let his gaze pass over her, the milk-pale skin, the slender curves, the delicate silk. She was what she’d convinced herself she was not—beautiful, stunning, desirable. On one long slim thigh strapped by thin strong leather, was a knife associated with dark alleys and smoky bars. Saying nothing, Bennett reached for it. She automatically caught his wrist.

“Bennett—”

“Be quiet.” His voice was as flat and cool as his eyes. Hannah let her fingers fall away. Slowly, he drew the weapon from its sheath. It was warmed from her skin, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand. Until he pushed the button and the thin blade slid silently, lethally out. It caught the lamplight and glistened silver.

She wore it intimately, he thought. He wanted to ask her if she’d used it, but a part of him knew it was best to keep the question to himself for now. It weighed nothing, but sat heavy as lead in his hand.

“Why do you need this in the palace?”

She pushed a strap back onto her shoulder, then rubbed the skin there that was growing colder and colder. “I’m expecting word from Deboque. I can’t be sure when or where it will come from. Because I may have to respond to it immediately, it’s best to be prepared.”

“What kind of word?”

“I think you should ask—”

“I’m asking you.” His voice carried a lash he used rarely, but effectively. “What kind of word, Hannah?”

Hannah drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and told him everything. There could be no objection now, she reminded herself. He already knew too much.

“So we sacrifice a part of the east wing. Camouflage.” He twisted the blade under the light. He knew, without doubt, he could have plunged it into Deboque’s heart.

“The more genuine things seem, the more easily Deboque will be convinced. He won’t part with five million dollars until he’s sure Cordina is left without an heir.”

“He would kill the children,” Bennett murmured. “Even Alexander’s unborn child. All for what? Revenge, power, money?”

“For all three. He would have his revenge on your father, his own power would grow from the chaos, and money would follow. It’s his greed that will topple him this time, Bennett. I promise you.”