The Disgraced Princess by Robyn Donald Page A

moment. ‘Not that I dislike Auckland. I love Kiwinui. That’s always been my ideal.’
    Because Kelt lived there? The thought goaded Gerd into silence. Once at the top he watched as she turned to examine the building with wide, awed eyes, and answered her questions as best he could, intrigued by her quick curiosity and interest in everything.
    Why had he asked her to come to his coronation? Oh, he’d told her it was because he saw her as family. It hadn’t been exactly a lie—more a convenient half-truth.
    Admitting that he felt there was unfinished business between them would have given her invitation too much importance.
    She interrupted his reluctant admission by pointing towards a distant hillside village. ‘I presume the grassed-over track from there used to be the route to the temple.’
    â€˜Yes, the ancient processional way. When we come by car I’ll leave the vehicle in the village and we’ll walk up that path.’
    â€˜I’m amazed it’s still visible after all these centuries,’ she said reflectively, her tone quiet and solemn.
    â€˜It was probably used quite regularly until fairly recently.’
    â€˜What are the bushes growing in that gully?’
    Amusement tinged his words. ‘Actually, a very distant relative of the pohutukawa that grows by your beaches. It’s a myrtle and is sacred to Aphrodite. It’s flowering now, in fact—they’re creamy-white, and sweetly scented.’
    An underlying note in his voice lifted the hair on the back of Rosie’s neck. She didn’t know how to deal with this, she thought despairingly. They weren’t touching, but she was so aware of him her skin felt taut and stretched, as though he had the power to affect her physically from a distance.
    It was too much—sensory overload. Turning abruptly, she gazed at the temple again, a monument to the power and strength of physical love, and thought how incredibly appropriate that was.
    Did Gerd make a habit of bringing his lovers here…?
    â€˜Is it safe to explore inside?’ she asked brightly, pushing the ugly query into the back of her mind and refusing to allow it to hurt.
    â€˜It’s in good condition. There have been tactful repairs made these past few years.’
    She cast him a swift look. ‘Did you have anything to do with that?’
    â€˜I’ve set up a foundation to care for the ancient monuments of Carathia,’ he said, and began to tell her of the statue that had been found near by, a magnificent thing of creamy Parian marble lost so long ago its existence had become a myth, only half-believed until it was found by a peasant in his olive grove. ‘It had been buried so carefully that it was remarkably intact.’
    â€˜Where is it?’ she asked, looking around the empty expanse of the temple.
    â€˜In a museum in the biggest town over on the mainland coast,’ he told her, and answered the query in her glance. ‘For security. It was almost stolen.’
    She said, ‘I suppose that’s a constant fear.’
    â€˜It is,’ he said grimly. ‘There are extremely rich men who’d enjoy nothing more than to gloat over something as beautiful and rare.’
    Rosie nodded. ‘I’ve read about that, but to me it sounds sick.’
    â€˜You could say it shows a commendable love of beauty.’
    â€˜But you don’t believe that,’ she said swiftly.
    â€˜No.’ The flat, lethal tone of his voice revealed more than his dispassionate words. ‘Like you, I think it shows a sick desire to own something no one else can enjoy.’ He gestured at a marble podium. ‘She stood there.’
    Rosie said, ‘Oh—look.’
    On the ancient stone someone had put flowers—a white-ribboned posy made up of the golden daisies that dotted the processional way and the fringed, delicately perfumed flowers that had to be myrtle.
    â€˜An offering,’ Gerd