They’d been married more than a year, and there were times, unexpected times, when just looking at him could stop her heart.

He came back to sit beside her, cupped her chin in his hand, brushed his thumb over the little dent in its center. “Darling Eve, so still and quiet in the dark.” He touched his lips to her brow. “I’ve brought you a present.”

She blinked, and immediately edged back. It made him smile, this habitual reaction of hers to gifts. Just as the uneasy look she gave the long, narrow box in his hand made him grin.

“It won’t bite you,” he promised.

“You weren’t even gone two days. There has to be some sort of time requirement for bringing back presents.”

“I missed you after two minutes.”

“You’re saying that to soften me up.”

“Doesn’t make it less true. Open the box, Eve, then say: ‘Thank you, Roarke.’”

She rolled her eyes, but she opened the box.

It was a bracelet, a kind of cuff with a pattern of minute diamond shapes etched into the gold to give it sparkle. In the center was a stone-and as it was blood-red, she assumed it was a ruby-big as her thumb and smooth to the touch.

It looked old, and important, in that priceless antique way that made her stomach jitter.

“Roarke-”

“You forgot the thank-you part.”

“Roarke,” she said again. “You’re going to tell me this once belonged to some Italian countess or-”

“Princess,” he supplied, and took the bracelet from her to slip it onto her wrist. “Sixteenth century. Now it belongs to a queen.”

“Oh, please.”

“Okay, that was laying it on a bit thick. Looks good on you, though.”