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‘Ten thousand pou…’ She blinked. ‘Are you joking?’
The old man smiled. ‘All right. Twenty.’
Paige grasped the edge of the counter. ‘You’re crazy,’ she whispered.
‘Twenty-five, then. You’ll just have to wait while I make a quick phone call…’
‘You are crazy!’
‘I have to call my bank. I don’t keep that kind of money lying around.’ He peered at her and then he sighed. ‘Thirty thousand, and that’s absolutely my final offer.’
She tore her eyes from his and stared at the ruby lying like a burning coal in her hand. Thirty thousand pounds. It was incredible. She had never seen that much money at one time in her life. If you added up what she’d earned during all the years she’d worked, you still wouldn’t reach that much.
Conversions from pounds sterling to dollars and back again flashed through her head. Dear heaven, how far such an amount would go! She could rest, eat properly, have her baby, take her time about finding the right job after the child was old enough to leave with a sitter…
‘No.’ The word burst from her, and she closed her hand around the stone.
The old man’s eyebrows rose. ‘No?’
Paige shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I… I could never sell my ring. It… it…’
‘Look, you need the money. Let me make a call, and then…’
‘You don’t understand.’ Her voice rose. ‘This ring… this ring means more to me than all the money in the world. I… I’ll think of something. I’ll… I’ll…’
The shop spun away. She saw the old man’s look of surprise, heard herself make a sound that was part moan, part cry, and then she was falling, falling, spinning in a circle of bright light towards a narrowing cone of darkness, and as she fell into it, she heard the old man’s voice telling her she’d be all right, she’d be fine, she’d be…
The darkness swallowed her.
Images. Dreams. Faces, shifting in and out. Men in white jackets. A siren, and a swaying ride through darkening streets. Voices and more faces, all taut with concern. Bright light, the prick of a needle, the softness of sheets and blankets, and then a voice, a persistent voice, pleading with her, urging her, trying to lure her from the darkness that still held her. A voice she knew.
‘Paige.’
She tried to answer. But she was so weary. So weary…
‘Paige, my love…’
She stirred restlessly.
‘Paige—open your eyes. Look at me, Paige. Look at me.’
She wanted to. She wanted to lift her eyelids and see who was speaking to her in that hoarse, intense whisper, see who was holding her hand, but there was a comfort in the darkness. It would be so much simpler to stay within its embrace…
Lips brushed softly over hers. ‘Please, darling. Look at me.’
Darling. That was what Quinn had called her, but never as if he meant it. He’d never said it this way…
‘Paige. Sweet Juliet. My love.’
Her heart leaped. She knew the voice, the touch, the feel of the lips against hers.
‘Quinn?’ Her whisper was hesitant, breathless. It took all the strength she possessed to say his name.
His hand caught hers, and she felt the warmth of his breath against her face.
‘Paige. Thank God.’
‘Quinn,’ she sighed, and slowly her lashes lifted from her cheeks.
