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a fearful eye on him for the next few minutes. When the pause between them became unendurable, she ventured a question.
"Will we be working today?" She braced herself, in case he became angry. She had to stay by him, but she had already pushed him today with her determination to do so.... And her guilt was weighing heavy on her mind. She knew the facade he wore. Beneath it, he was a good man.
She curled her fingers into her fists, not noticing that the nails dug deeply into her flesh. In her own mind she was still his wife. She had entered the marriage, whether valid or not, with open eyes. And still she had grasped for her little piece of the moon. . . . God forgive her, but she had had to have it. . . .
"No, we won't be working today. I do not feel that I could do the marble justice." He finally turned from the window and stared at her with somber eyes. She realized he was trying to smile. "Nor could I do justice to you today, my dear."
Ronnie felt the ever-threatening tears welling in her eyes. If only he had been cruel, flown into one of his tantrums! A small sob escaped her and she left the doorway to come to his side, but he stopped her with a hand in the air, his eyes closing.
"No, Ronnie, please," he murmured. "I—I want to be alone. Tomorrow we will go back to work."
Ronnie halted stiffly in mid-stride, swallowed, and nodded. "Can I do anything for you?" she asked softly.
"No, I'm fine. Go to your room and rest. Tomorrow we will be receiving a house guest. You will have your hostess duties to attend to when we are not in the studio." For now, anyway, he was informing her that they would go on as usual.
Ronnie nodded again. "Who is coming?"
"The gallery owner who will be handling the marble pieces." Pieter gave her a crooked grin reminiscent of better times; times when he had been a young and sound man. "He's quite a tyrant, I hear, determined to light a fire under the great Pieter von Hurst. A fine connoisseur of the arts, and a ruthless business tycoon to boot. You'll have to be your most charming—and determined to spare me his lectures."
Ronnie smiled. "We'll keep him at bay."
Pieter suddenly sagged into the massive wing chair by the window. Once more, Ronnie would have rushed to him, but he stopped her again with a hard stare and an uplifted hand. "Go now, Ronnie," he said gruffly.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned and walked softly to the door.
"Ronnie?"
"Yes?" She turned back to him quickly, surprised by the tenderness in his voice.
Absurdly Pieter von Hurst was momentarily tongue-tied. He looked over the exquisite beauty of the wife who could never be his, and he knew, as he always knew, despite his often atrocious behavior, that she had a beauty that went far beyond her regal physical attributes. Hers was of the mind, the heart, and the soul. He owed her so much! Rebellious and spirited herself, she quelled her own righteous anger when he bitterly raged into her, using her as a scapegoat when he sank into despair and lost control.
She had stuck by him through everything, maintaining the public image that was all he had left of a once-great pride, even when they had found out that the ceremony binding them together had been a sham, presided over by an unlicensed notary. In one of his moods created by fear, Pieter had practically ordered her from him. But Ronnie had understood, and remained solidly at his side. They had lived together as Mr. and Mrs. Pieter von Hurst for five years, she had told him. She was his wife. In the very near future they would reconcile the illegalities. . . .
"Ronnie," Pieter repeated, the thin, cracked line of his lips forming a bittersweet smile. "I know this is hard to believe, but I do love you."
"And I love you, Pieter," she answered softly.
"I know that, and I appreciate it. I... er... hope your cruise was nice." He had, compelled by ego, insisted she take the cruise before they "reconciled the legalities." "We won't speak about it again."
Ronnie nodded and moved swiftly for