An iron shaft clamped down around her middle and catapulted her across the room onto the bed. The old springs creaked madly, and she bounced hard, the wind knocked completely out of her. Adrenaline flooded into her bloodstream in such a rush it hurt, and she gulped for air as the weight came off her, slowly, as if not quite sure it was the proper thing to do.

The dark, male silhouette stood upright. “Hell of a time to be sneaking into a man’s room,” Matthew said.

She sat up halfway, leaning back on her elbows. “I thought you might be awake.”

“I was.”

“What the devil did you think I was?”

“Act first. Then find out.”

As her eyes adjusted further to the darkness of the room, she realized he was in nature’s best. Quite nude. And magnificently so. “I didn’t expect…I thought you’d be…”

“Didn’t think to pack my jammies,” he said sarcastically, making no attempt to cover himself.

She herself was clad chin-to-toe in an L.L. Bean flannel nightgown. “Well, you could have worn something.”

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I guess I get what I deserve.”

“I guess you do.”

“Matthew, I-” She stopped herself. “I can’t very well talk with you standing there like that. Aren’t you cold?”

He grinned. “Freezing.”

There were no heat vents upstairs, and it was even colder than downstairs. Even with her flannel nightie, she was chilly herself. But instead of putting on his clothes, Matthew pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. He stretched out, forcing her to sit up straight, but even so she could feel his calves through the quilts, touching her behind.

“Not what you imagined?” he asked at her stricken look.

“I thought we could go downstairs. I have some instant cocoa I could fix.”

“Perish the thought. No brandy?”

She shook her head. “No alcohol whatsoever. I hate to drink alone.”

“A nasty habit. But I’m afraid instant cocoa isn’t worth the effort of putting on my pants and traipsing through this refrigerator of a house. Is your room nice and cozy?”

“Well, it’s better than this.”

“At least there’s no damn hay up here.” He leaned back against the pillows, a shaft of moonlight catching his dark chest. She noted the muscles, the scars. “What did you want?” he asked.

She curled her feet up under her in a tailor squat and covered them with the flannel nightgown and, facing him, leaned back against the footboard, its iron bars frigid.

Matthew laughed. “Don’t you want to crawl under the blankets with me?”

“No, thank you.”

“Freeze, then.”

“I came to tell you about the Minstrel’s Rough.”

That cut off his laugh. He said seriously, “Go on.”

She shivered; it was so damn cold. But she knew if she went under the covers with him, she might not come out again. “I’m so used to not talking about it-to pretending it’s just another hunk of rock and not the Minstrel. Uncle Johannes brought it to me in Rotterdam seven years ago. I never took him seriously. In fact, I thought he was a little crazy; I discredited his story because it was easier that way.”

“Where is it now?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been using it as a paperweight.”

“Jesus.”

“For jam recipes,” she said.

“Why not? It’s only the world’s largest uncut diamond.”

“If you’d seen Uncle Johannes that night, you might have done the same.”

“I don’t make jam.”

Ignoring him, she recounted the night at the little stone church in Delftshaven, when her uncle had presented her with the crumpled bag and the stone wrapped in faded velvet.

When she’d finished, Matthew asked, “How did the Minstrel come into your family?”

“According to the legend, the Peperkamps provided safe haven in Amsterdam to Jews driven first from Lisbon, then Antwerp. Those were the major diamond centers at the time. The Peperkamps helped them settle into Amsterdam, where they were able to establish themselves as diamond merchants. They were always voices for tolerance and religious freedom.”

“Were they in the diamond trade themselves?”

“No, they were simple merchants. It was a turbulent time in Holland. Throughout the century, they were fighting off the Spanish-particularly after Philip the Second came into power in 1556. He was extreme in his anti-Protestant views and enacted a number of vicious edicts, instigating revolt in the northern provinces. There were uprisings and atrocities on both sides until Philip was dead, the Spanish Armada defeated, and the Spanish finally routed from Holland by 1609, I believe it was. Anyway, the Peperkamps became known for their advocacy of what we now might call human rights, but they paid dearly for their positions: several family members were tortured and executed by the Spanish and extremist Protestants, neither of whom appreciated their views.

“Rumors about the Minstrel’s Rough had existed for some time, and it came into their hands in 1581, three years before the assassination of William of Orange by a Free Catholic for a reward offered by Philip of Spain. It was presented to them anonymously, for their sacrifice, and ultimately led them into the diamond business themselves. They were curious about the stone and had no idea of its value. They decided among themselves that it would never be cut, in remembrance of those who’d been lost and those who’d been left with no choice but to accept their help. It would not belong to them; it would belong to no one. They would be the caretakers. No one would know for certain the stone existed, its grade, its potential value. In each generation, there’s been one primary caretaker, one person trusted with the tradition. Only he-until me, it’s always been a he-has control over the stone, whether it’s finally to be cut, what becomes of it. Everything-the legend, the tradition, the mystery-rests with that one person.”

“Hell of a responsibility,” Matthew said.

Juliana was shivering uncontrollably. She nodded, saying nothing more.

He gave her a small grin. “Some advantages to having a family that goes back to about the Depression. Juliana, you’re going to freeze. Come under the blankets a minute and warm up-or here, take one.” He peeled off the top quilt and flung it down to her. “You should get back to sleep. You’ll need it.”

“I know, but I can’t. Mother-”

She broke off, shutting her eyes and putting her thumb at the top of her cheekbone and her forefinger at the inner corner of her eyebrow and pressing down hard, as if that would help hold back the anguish. Matthew slid forward, the quilts dropping to his waist, but he seemed unaware of the cold as he took her in his arms. She felt herself go limp as she laid her head on his shoulder, absorbing his warmth.

“Oh, hell,” he breathed, and kissed her hair. Unable to fall asleep, she’d taken a shower after he’d gone to bed, trying to wash out the pain and the frustration and the worry and watch it go down the drain. She’d wanted him to come to her. But he hadn’t.

“I know Bloch,” he said. “He’ll figure out you have the Minstrel and use your mother and your aunt, if he can manage to grab her, as bait for you. He won’t kill them, Juliana.”

“Until he gets the Minstrel or realizes he can get it,” she finished, knowing Matthew wouldn’t. “Then he’ll kill all of us.”

“We don’t know that.”

But she could see he did.

“For now, they’re safe.”

She turned her face to him, her hair falling against the warm skin of his shoulder and her eyes as luminous and unreadable as the stars. “Who is he?”

In the dim light she could see the blackness of his eyes, but she didn’t turn away. She pulled the quilt up over her, staying in his arms instead. For the first time that night, she finally felt warm.

“Phillip Bloch is a retired army sergeant-”

“And he was a platoon sergeant in Vietnam, and a platoon’s made up of three ten-man squads. I mean, who is he to you?”