Читать книгу A Trap So Tender - Jennifer Lewis - Страница 8

“These berms mark the edge of the estate.” James nodded to the window of the fast-moving Land Rover that had picked them up at Aberdeen airport.

Fiona peered out. Anticipation coursed through her body. Which was ridiculous. She was here on the most underhanded mission, yet she felt excited as if she genuinely hoped to find that damn cup and maybe even have a torrid affair with James while she did it. Deep ditches on the side of the road swooped up into high walls of grass and trees. They drove straight along this avenue for almost twenty minutes. “How big is the estate?”

“Big. But don’t worry. We’ll reach the business end soon.” Eventually, the road swung around and took them through a tall stone gateway. Hills soared around them, making her feel tiny in the dramatic landscape. “My ancestors liked privacy.”

“And you don’t?”

“Not that much.” He smiled. “A wall between me and my neighbors is quite enough. I don’t need a few miles.”

“Then it’s lucky you’ll have me here to bother you.”

“It is.”

Her skin tingled at the affirmation that he was glad of her company. She should feel guilty that she was here only to get her father’s factory back. She didn’t, though. The reports she’d read of James’s business practices had made her toes curl. He was all about the bottom line and clearly didn’t care whom he steamrolled over on the road to more greenbacks. And he hadn’t brought her here just to find some old cup. She wasn’t the worldliest person, but she’d been around the block to know he had some ulterior motive himself, even if it was just a highland fling.

The road was dead straight, carved right through the undulating landscape in what must have been an engineering feat to rival building the pyramids. High hedges loomed ahead, and once they passed those her jaw dropped as a menacing storybook castle rose in front of them.

A complex of buildings, mossy-gray stone in styles that looked medieval, Tudor, Victorian, even Roman, spread in all directions. “It’s huge.”

“It was more or less a town in its heyday. Everyone lived inside the defended area. Some still do—the estate manager and his staff.”

“I can see how a person could get lonely here.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Makes Singapore seem very welcoming by comparison.”

Fiona stared at him for a moment, feeling sudden affection for this man who felt more at home in a bustling, noisy Asian city than in the baronial halls of his ancestors. He seemed more human all the time.

Again, not a good thing.

“You must need a large staff to keep this place alive.”

“Not really. I know the villagers think I should do more with it, but as long as someone keeps the roof solid and the windows sealed, it takes care of itself. Sheep keep the grass down. A stone fortress is very low maintenance compared to a modern house.”

Someone must climb on a scaffold almost weekly to keep those monster hedges at the entrance manicured to perfection. Maybe he had no idea how much work it took to keep the place running. He probably didn’t care. It was all pocket change to him.

The car pulled up in a gravel courtyard the size of a football field. Not a weed in sight. Two men in dark suits carrying walkie-talkies appeared from behind more manicured bushes, but stilled at the sight of the car.

“The hired security. I don’t know what my cousin was thinking when she announced a reward for finding the cup.”

“She knew it would get people interested. Obviously she was right.” James climbed out of the car, and the driver opened her door and helped her out. She was starting to feel like a royal dignitary with all this VIP treatment. It might be hard to go back to ordinary life after this.

An older man emerged from the house and he and the driver carried their bags inside after a brief exchange with James. “Is he your butler?”

James nodded. “We call Angus the household manager. Sounds more modern, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes.” There was nothing modern about any of this. Which piqued her curiosity to get more of a glimpse into James Drummond’s rarefied life. With no bags to carry, she walked across the vast expanse of gravel feeling rather at a loss. Her cute stiletto heels kept tipping her this way and that, and James’s bold stride almost left her behind by the time they reached a veritable cliff of stone steps.

He turned and extended his arm. She had no choice but to take it. She tried to ignore the trickle of sensation that crept up her arm and across her body. You’d think a full day of travel in close proximity to the man might have killed any spark of sexual attraction. Unfortunately, however, it had stoked it into a steady flame. Good thing she was ruled by her head and not more unpredictable parts of her anatomy.

The doorway into the house looked more suited to a grand cathedral. She almost expected the smell of incense and the murmur of monks; instead, she was greeted by an aroma of bacon and the distant barking of dogs.

“You have dogs?”

“Not me. I travel too much. The hounds for the local hunt are kept on the estate. They gather here to hunt and I join them when I’m around. I won’t do it when you’re here, of course.”

“Why not?”

“It would be rude of me to leave you.”

“Maybe I could come, too?” She lifted a brow.

He frowned. “Hunting is done on horseback.”

She laughed, a loud, ringing sound that bounced off the stone walls. “I may be American but I’m not an idiot.”

“You ride?”

“Of course.” She decided to stride ahead, as if this news were nothing special. Inside she was glowing with triumph. James Drummond obviously had no idea what he had on his hands with her. “Where will I sleep?”

“Upstairs.” He followed her. “I’ll show you myself.”

Her bedroom looked fit for a queen. Perhaps one about to be executed in the Bloody Tower. A high, four-poster bed stood in the center of the room, curtains pulled back halfway to reveal rich brocade bedding. Tiny leaded windows filled the room with a gloomy half light. The large Oriental rug was worn and faded, possibly by hundreds of years of use. What appeared to be a priceless Ming vase stood high on the stone mantel. “Your family doesn’t go in for redecorating, do they?”

He chuckled. “Not since about 1760. You could say we’re a bit set in our ways.”

“At least you don’t waste money on passing fads.”

“Not often. These newfangled glass windows were controversial when they first came out, but we like them.”

She smiled. “And you can still open them to pour boiling oil on marauders.”

“Absolutely. The designers thought of everything.”

“Is there a bathroom, or have those not established themselves in fashion for long enough?”

He gestured to a low wood door. She pulled the handle with some trepidation, and was surprised when it opened into a large, heavily marbled room with an appropriately antique-looking tub and sink and toilet in sparkling condition. At least she wouldn’t have to wash herself from a jug.

“There’s no shower, I’m afraid. We’re still not convinced those are here to stay, but water does come out of the taps, so you won’t have to call for Angus to bring it.”

“That is a relief. I’m not sure I want Angus seeing me in a towel.” She wanted to laugh, but somehow managed not to. “I am beginning to worry about finding this cup.”

“Why?” He frowned, which annoyingly made him look even more handsome.

“The place makes big look small.”

“It’s sprawling, but quite simple to navigate, and there’s little clutter to deal with. The Drummonds always seem to have gone in for a sparse, minimalist style.”

“How forward thinking.”

“Are you tired?”

“No. I was thinking about that bacon and what lucky person might get to eat it.”

He laughed. “Let’s go.”

Breakfast was served in a grand hall. They sat at a long wooden table, its surface polished to a high sheen. The blue-and-white porcelain plates had probably been imported from China in the 1700s. After they ate their fill from a collection of covered dishes, James offered to give her a whirlwind tour of the castle.

“You might be the first non-Drummond to see inside the east wing this century,” he murmured, as he pulled open a wood door studded with dark iron. He ducked through the low entranceway.

“Are you sure you won’t have to kill me because I’ve seen too much?” Her skin prickled with excitement, partly from gaining entry to the Drummonds’ inner sanctum, but mostly from continued proximity to James.

“Time will tell.” He shot her a dark gray glance that made her freeze for a second, until she saw the humor sparkling behind his steely visage.

She swallowed. Time would tell all, but she’d make sure to put plenty of distance between them before that happened.

He gestured for her to enter. The hallway was narrow and she brushed against his arm as she passed. Even through his expensive shirt, his touch still sent a hot flash of awareness coursing through her. What did his body look like under his elegant armor? Was he muscled and athletic, or was that just her fevered imagination at work?

Her heart pumped faster as she entered the low hallway with its coffered ceiling. Her cute shoes clacked annoyingly on the flagstone floor. James could probably lock her up in one of these rooms and it would be months—years—before anyone found her. “Where are you taking me?”

“The oldest part of the house. It’s where Drummonds piled their junk once they cleared it out of the more inhabited rooms. It’s the first place I’d suggest looking for the cup piece.”

“What kind of shape is it?” Online research into the story had told her it was the base of the cup they were looking for, but no need for him to know she’d done some digging on her own.

“Round, I’d guess. It’s the part that sits on the table, the base, so it could be a hexagon or similar.”

“I hope it hasn’t been thrown away over the years.”

“Or melted down to make bullets. That’s the kind of thing the Drummonds might do with miscellaneous metal.”

“They sound a lovely bunch, your ancestors.”

“‘Keep thy blade sharp’ is the family motto. It’s right on the crest under the raven’s claws.”

That might explain James’s ruthless pursuit of his goals. He had no idea she even knew of his reputation. She decided to call his bluff. “You seem so different.”

“Am I?” He didn’t look at her, but out a small leaded window, at the white sky. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Why do you think of yourself as ruthless?” Maybe she could make him peer into his own hard heart and appeal to his sense of right and wrong to get her father’s factory back. Then he’d be grateful to her for helping him see the light. They could be friends—or lovers?—and live happily ever after.

Reality smacked her in the face as his laugh bounced off the thick stone walls. “I think I’m the last person you should ask about that.”

She decided not to push further. Not yet. She was here as his guest, and she didn’t want him getting suspicious about her motives. The hallway seemed to go on forever, and all the doors along it were closed. “What’s behind all these doors?”

“Small bedrooms. Probably once inhabited by vassals.”

“What the heck is a vassal?”

He chuckled. “Hangers-on. People who lived off the good grace—what little there was of it—of the auld Drummonds.”

Like me. “Interesting. What would they get out of keeping such people around?”

“People who are obligated come in useful when you need a favor. Or some dirty work done.”

She glanced behind her, for no good reason. Had James brought her here for reasons of his own? She thought she was so cunning to get invited into the heart of his empire, but maybe he had his own nefarious plans for her.

The fearsome clack of her own shoe heels was getting on her rather raw nerves.

Suddenly James took a turn to the left and pulled back an iron bolt on a tall wood door. “Welcome to the oldest part of the castle.”

The door opened onto a sort of balcony. She stepped through it and peered over a stone rampart into a square-shaped hall. Antique wood furniture sprawled uninvitingly on the flagstone floor of the hall about thirty feet below where they stood. Above them a ceiling of great wood beams had probably held up the roof for a thousand years.

James marched along a gallery and down a flight of narrow wood stairs toward the main floor. She followed slowly, staring around the space. She could almost feel the presence of all the men and women who must have breathed the air in this space over the years. “This is incredible. How come you don’t use it?”

“The newer parts of the castle are more comfortable. And they have heat.”

A grand stone fireplace stood cold and empty. Visions of a roaring flame, and maybe something roasting on a spit, crowded her mind. “How strange to think that your ancestors have lived here since the day it was built.”

“They haven’t.” He stared up at a carved crest above the fireplace. “Gaylord Drummond lost the whole estate in a game of dice in the eighteenth century. That’s how some of the Drummonds ended up in America. He gambled and drank away everything they owned except the one mysterious cup everyone’s so excited about, so his three sons took off for the untamed shores of the New World to make their fortunes. There they apparently split up the cup and each took a piece, vowing to reunite it one day.” His stony gaze still rested on the chiseled stone.

“And one of them ended up back here.”

“He made a killing in beaver pelts up in Canada.”

“Poor beavers.”

“They used to make hats out of their fur. Very waterproof, apparently. He made his fortune, then sailed back here and bought the place from the son of the farmer who had won it from his father.”

“And presumably he brought his piece of the cup with him.”

James shrugged. “Can’t say I care one way or the other.”

“You’re terrible. It’s a part of your family history.”

“I keep this pile going. That’s my contribution to the family history. Maybe I should start playing dice. Losing it would save me a fortune.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Not really.” He finally looked at her, and again his gray gaze stole her breath. “Though sometimes I wish I did.”

She thought she saw emotion somewhere behind his stony facade. How could you not feel a powerful sense of history—even destiny—while standing in such an ancient and dramatic space? If she could feel it, she knew ancestral pride must beat somewhere in James Drummond’s cold heart. She could hardly imagine being heir to such a kingdom even if, by today’s standards, it was rather remote and unpopulated.

She drew in a long breath and stared about her. “I think it’s magical.”

His attention focused on her again, its icy blast like a laser. Did he suddenly suspect her of trying to worm her way into his affections so she could be mistress of this place? Women must have been trying for decades. She regretted her cheesy enthusiasm, and managed a casual shrug. “But I can see how a condo near Orchard Road would be easier to maintain.”

He laughed. “Unquestionably.” His eyes narrowed and she felt herself under scrutiny again. For a split second his gaze seemed to scan her body like an unemotional piece of precision equipment, but somehow it left her nipples tingling, her belly quivering and her knees shaky.

She wheeled around. Maybe if she couldn’t see him he’d have less power over her. It was infuriating how a simple glance from him sent her pulse racing. He was her enemy, for crying out loud. Perhaps he brought all his potential conquests here to astonish them with his family grandeur and made them swoon into his arms.

“So, where’s the cup?” She walked farther away from him, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Hardly. You know where the nooks and crannies are.” There didn’t even seem to be any that she could see. Though there were some battered wooden doors along one wall. “You know, the places where they locked up their enemies and left them for dead?”

“Oubliettes are more of a French thing. We Scots prefer to slit their throats in broad daylight then have a party.”

She had to laugh. “A simple folk.”

“Yes. Reporters have accused me of similar behavior in my business dealings.” Humor glittered in his cool gaze.

She cursed the way her heart fluttered. He’d just admitted that he was a ruthless bastard! How could she still be attracted to him? She should be worried about her own sanity. “Do you think they’re right?” She tried to maintain a steely stare.

“Maybe.” He turned and strode across the room, leaving her standing there, heart pounding and unspoken words crowding her brain.

You stole my father’s business and left him penniless and devastated. She had to keep a cool head until she figured out how to get it back. She couldn’t let him know that she was on the side of those who despised him. “I guess that’s just business, huh?”

He wheeled around, and she was surprised to see a half smile on his face. “It’s a relief to talk to someone who understands.”

She blinked. Okay. She’d opened this trapdoor and fallen in all by herself. “I haven’t had to slit any throats yet.”

He laughed. “You’re still young.”

“Not really.” How arrogant of him. He was only a few years older than she. “I have plenty of life experience.”

Laughter danced in his eyes. “Of course you do.”

She wanted to slap him. “I started my first business when I was twelve.”

“A lemonade stand?”

“Buying old computers and reselling them for scrap.” She lifted her chin. “Much more profitable than squeezing lemons.” No need to mention she’d had the lemonade stand, too.

He moved closer to her. Which was unsettling considering that they had about an acre of space around them. “I started my first business at eleven.”

“Competitive, aren’t you?” She raised a brow. All the tiny hairs on her body stood on end, prickling with awareness as he moved even closer.

“Very. Some have even said it will be my downfall.”

Maybe sooner than you think. “What was your first business?”

“I bought wholesale chocolate bars and resold them to the desperate souls at my boarding school.”

“A captive audience.”

“The best kind.” His shoulders were broad, almost straining against the elegant cut of his shirt. The great room was cool, but she could feel her body temperature spiking as he shifted his stance. His gray gaze rested right on her face, thoughtful, daring her to argue with him.

She straightened her own shoulders and raised herself to her full height, which unfortunately was a good half a foot less than his. “Is it hard to find a captive audience these days?”

“Not at all.” He held her gaze for a heartbeat. “Everyone’s captive in one way or another.”

“Are you?” Had he moved closer? She didn’t see him move his feet, but he was now so near she could lift her hand and touch him. His male scent—expensive wool and subtle musk—tickled her senses. Her nipples now strained against her bra, and she hoped he didn’t notice.

“Absolutely.” His voice was a low growl that took her by surprise, but not as much as the way he stepped in, lifted her chin deftly with his fingers and pressed his lips softly to hers.

Electric voltage zapped through her. Her body temperature shot skyward as his tongue touched hers. I’m kissing James Drummond.

She felt the weight of his palms settle on her lower back. Her breath now came in unsteady gasps, and her hands crept up to his torso and fisted themselves in his shirt.

This man is a beast. He chews people up and spits them out. He just confessed as much!

His low moan in her ear made her desire surge. Her fingers dug into his hard back. His rough skin created pleasurable friction against her cheek as he shifted the angle of the kiss and plunged deeper, making her arch her back and lean into his arms.

Uh-oh. Instead of fighting him off, she gripped him tighter and kissed him back with all the strength she possessed.

His scent was intoxicating. Surprisingly masculine and rugged, betraying the man hidden beneath the expensive designer clothes. She could feel the raw passion of his warlike ancestors surging through them both.

Was there magic in this place? If so, it might be the dark and scary kind. She certainly didn’t feel fully in control of this situation—or even herself—at this moment.

And there was that family curse to contend with….

James’s strong hand squeezed her buttock, which made her squirm. Her breasts bumped against his chest, and his other hand rose to skim her nipple with his thumb. His lips never left hers. His kiss was alternately fierce and tender, drawing her in and taking her breath away. She’d never been kissed like this.

He’s your enemy.

This is probably exactly what his ancestors did with their enemies. The female ones, at least. She was being ravished. Why did it feel so good?

Her fingers had somehow wandered into his thick hair. She pressed the length of her body against his, and the thickening of his arousal made her heart beat faster. James Drummond seemed so cool, so controlled, that it only heightened her desire to feel him surging within her with heat and passion.

There was definitely more to this man than met the eye, or was written about in the columns of Investor’s Business Daily. The way she felt right now, she could easily imagine peeling off his shirt and pants and making love to him right there on the cold stone floor of his ancestral castle.

But he pulled back. His hands slid from her waist and his lips slipped away from hers. An icy chill seemed to replace his touch. She opened her eyes—how long had they been closed?—and found herself blinking in the cold light of the empty hall.

James’s eyes were narrowed, his face hard. “I hadn’t intended for that to happen.” He shoved a hand through his tousled hair. “Yet.”