At least three of the tables on the veranda overlooking the gardens were occupied by yawning guests with coffee and the morning newspaper. Diana had intended to find a table there and have breakfast, but instead found herself crossing the veranda and going into the main building.

The observation tower.

That was where she was headed, though she only consciously realized it when she began climbing the stairs. Part of her wanted to turn around and go back, if only to get some caffeine into her system, but she couldn't seem to make herself do that.

Which was more than a little unsettling.

"Dammit," she muttered as she neared the top. "I don't need to sightsee, I need some coffee."

"Help yourself."

Diana held on to the railing at the top of the stairs and looked at the man who had spoken, conscious of shock — but surely not as much as she should have felt — to see him there. To see him.

He was standing, leaning a shoulder against the casing of one of the unshuttered windows that encircled the room, a coffee cup in one hand. Despite the early hour he looked wide-awake, and was casual in jeans and a dark sweatshirt.

"The waiter brought up two cups," he continued, "so maybe he knew something I didn't. Then again, maybe it was just a screwup with room service. In any case, you're welcome to join me. There's plenty." He gestured toward a nearby small table, on which sat a silver tray with a coffeepot, cream jug and sugar bowl, the second cup and saucer, and a plate holding assorted pastries.

"I — you obviously wanted to be alone up here," she managed to say finally.