Читать книгу Claimed By The Wealthy Magnate - Nina Milne - Страница 8
ОглавлениеLADY KAITLIN DERWENT, poster girl for the aristocracy, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Fairfax, stared at her nigh on unrecognisable reflection and wondered if she’d run mad... No, she knew she must have run mad.
There could be no other explanation for the fact that she was standing in this glitzy Barcelona hotel room, her Titian-red hair obscured under a bottleful of cheap blonde dye, her green eyes masked by baby-blue contact lenses, on a ‘Blonde Hair and Blue Eyes in Barcelona’ themed hen weekend for a woman she hadn’t seen for years.
‘You OK?’ Lynette Cooper, her childhood playmate and the bride-to-be, leant forward to peer more closely into the dressing table mirror and layered on another sheen of letterbox-red lipstick. ‘Are you sure you won’t come out tonight? We’re making cocktails and then we’re drinking cocktails.’
Kaitlin summoned a smile. ‘No, thank you. I appreciate it, but I’d be gatecrashing.’
She didn’t know any of the other guests; it had been a crazy impulse of the type she never, ever demonstrated to ask Lynette if she could join the hen group so that she could escape for a weekend. Travel as part of a group with a degree of anonymity and gain some time out, some space to think.
‘I will truly be happy chilling out here. I’ll order room service, watch a film and go to sleep.’
Lynette tipped her blonde head to one side. ‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘OK.’ Lynette’s smile was genuine, and so reminiscent of her ten-year-old self that Kaitlin couldn’t help but smile back.
‘And, Lynette... Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, Kaitlin. I know we’ve lost touch, but I’m glad I could help. Really.’
Lynette looked as though she wanted to say more, and Kaitlin knew she needed to forestall her. She wouldn’t explain the reasons for the breakdown of their friendship all those years ago—couldn’t revisit the memories of a trauma she had relegated to the surreal.
‘And I am really grateful, Lynette. Now, go and have fun. Don’t worry about me.’
Lynette stood, undecided, and then nodded. ‘OK. Be good. Call me if you change your mind and want to meet up with us.’
With that she swirled from the room in a gust of perfume.
Be good. No problem there. Lady Kaitlin Derwent was always good—never a breath of scandal to her name and that was the way it would stay. This was as mad as she was ever likely to be—disguised as a blonde, holed up in a hotel room in Barcelona, so that she could contemplate her future.
The recent conversation with her parents pounded her temples.
Her mother’s voice, warm with honey. Yet it was a warmth all the Derwent children knew to be false. ‘Kaitlin. We have good news. Prince Frederick of Lycander is looking for a bride. We think you fit the bill.’
The Duke of Fairfax had snorted. ‘We know you do, and we expect you to do everything in your power to ensure it is you who joins him at the altar. Royal blood and Derwent blood joined in alliance.’
The Duchess had looked at her with something as near to approval as she ever showed, eyed her up and down and nodded her ash-blonde head. ‘So it shall be.’
Her parents had spoken and Kaitlin had smiled her cool, poised, serene smile—one of many practised in front of the mirror until her cheek muscles ached. ‘I’ll do my best.’
Now, sitting on the single bed of the Barcelona hotel room, Kaitlin closed her eyes and wondered what on earth she was doing here. What was the point of contemplation? There was nothing to muse over. After all, her future had been mapped out, her destiny already determined. Granted, it was a future most women would kill for—a guarantee of wealth and a young handsome sovereign prince to go with it.
A glance out of the window showed the dusky Barcelona evening. The breeze carried in staccato bursts of chatter, the smell of heat-hazed streets and a hint of sangria. Another glance at the mirror reassured her that her own siblings wouldn’t recognise her.
Well, Cora might, with her twin’s intuition, but Gabriel certainly wouldn’t. A familiar pang of guilt touched her at the thought of Cora—at the knowledge that her relationship with her sister had lost any semblance of closeness. As for Gabriel—right now she didn’t even know where her brother was. The future Duke of Fairfax had disappeared on a prolonged sojourn abroad, leaving behind a supposedly jilted girlfriend and no indication of when he would return.
The Derwent siblings—on the surface they had it all, but in reality...
The impetus of emotion made her decision for her—pent-up energy roiled inside her, making the room’s confines too restrictive, and instinct propelled her to the door, out of the room and down the carpeted stairs towards the lobby.
But as she looked around at the bustle in the marble foyer, the people all strangers, a tsunami of panic welled inside her without warning. Alarm and anxiety crashed in as they hadn’t for—oh, so many years.
Fool that she was.
This had been a mistake. She should never have come here—never have set foot out of her carefully planned life trajectory. At best she should at least have remained in the safety of her room. She needed to retrace her steps. If only her legs would co-operate. Dots danced in front of her eyes and her lungs refused to work.
A last vestige of common sense had her leaning against a marble pillar in the hope of obscurity...
* * *
Daniel Harrington stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby. Feelings of futile anger mixed with equally pointless hurt banded his chest.
Stupidity incarnate.
Who knew what had possessed him to attempt a reunion with his family? Ten years ago they had turned their backs on him, refused to countenance his decision to go legitimate, to no longer turn a blind eye.
‘If you walk out of that door, Danny, you don’t get to come back. Ever. You will be dead to us.’
That walk had been the hardest choice he’d ever made. But he’d done it, and he’d been a fool to think there would be any softening now. So he had only himself to blame for this wasted journey. But he had hoped that his mother, at least, would relent, would want to see her eldest son.
Instead his stepfather had sent his deputy in her stead—a man who had delivered his message with a cruelty that had exercised Daniel’s self-restraint to the utmost.
As he strode towards the revolving doors, the message echoed in his ears.
‘Ghosts get no visitors. Dead is dead, Danny boy. Dead is for ever, and you are dead to the Rosso family.’
He nearly missed the movement that had caught at the edge of his vision.
Dyed blonde hair caught back in a messy ponytail, blue eyes filled with anguish... The woman leant against a marble pillar that mostly concealed her from the guests that dotted the foyer. Her breath rasped in heaving gasps that indicated a full-scale panic attack.
With an abrupt turn Daniel veered off and halted in front of her. ‘Are you OK?’
Stupid question, but the words seemed at least to steady her slightly, and she blinked her eyes in rapid succession.
‘I’m fi...’ she began, then gasped out a half-laugh. ‘No, I’m not.’
Daniel gestured to a concierge. ‘Water, please.’ Turning, he held an arm out to the woman. ‘Let me help you. You need to sit down.’
‘Thank you.’
He watched as she visibly pulled herself together, almost as if through sheer will power. Her breathing was still ragged, but no longer desperate as she pushed away from the fluted column and stood with one hand resting on it.
‘I’ll be fine.’ She nodded her thanks to the hotel staff member who came over with a bottle of water. ‘Really.’
‘Is there someone I can call or get for you? Or...?’
‘No!’ The syllable was a touch too sharp. ‘Really, I’m fine now. Thank you for your help.’
‘I’ve hardly helped.’
He studied her for a long moment, saw the vulnerability still in her eyes, along with an anxiety she was clearly doing her best to mask.
‘But I’d like to. How about I buy you a drink? Stay with you until I’m sure you’re OK?’
Surprise touched with an understandable wariness etched a frown on her face.
‘No, thank you.’ The words were polite but final. ‘I don’t drink with strangers.’
‘And I don’t leave damsels in distress on their own in hotel lobbies. We can have a drink here. In the public bar, full of plenty of people. If you’re in trouble maybe I can help you.’
‘What makes you think I’m in trouble?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘Instinct. I’m a lawyer. Lots of my clients are in trouble. You get to know the signs.’
‘Well, in this case you’ve misread the signals. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not in trouble and I don’t need any more help than you’ve already given me.’
The words, though softly spoken, were uttered with determination, and Daniel knew he should go on his currently less than merry way. But his instincts were usually bang on the button, and the idea that this woman was in dire straits of some sort persisted.
Not his business. Though there was more to it than that. Dammit, she was beautiful. Wide blue eyes were fringed with thick dark lashes and unenhanced by make-up. A few tendrils of blonde hair had escaped the ponytail and framed a classically oval face. Slender and long-legged, she held herself with a poise and grace that added distinction to her beauty.
As if made uncomfortable by his scrutiny, she shifted from foot to foot and turned her head slightly to one side.
‘If you don’t need my help then perhaps we could just enjoy each other’s company? You wouldn’t think it to look at me, but I am a scintillating conversationalist.’
He accompanied the words with a wriggle of his eyebrows and to his surprise, and perhaps hers, her lips curved up into a smile. Though she still her shook her head.
‘Humour me. One drink. So I can be sure you are OK. You can ask the staff to keep an eye on us, if you’re worried. In fact I think they already are.’
The smile vanished and her eyes shaded with a hint of anxiety as she glanced round to where the concierge still watched them.
‘OK. One drink.’
He held out a hand. ‘I’m Daniel.’
The woman hesitated a moment before reaching her hand out to his. ‘Lynette.’
* * *
Half an hour later, seated across from Daniel in the cool anonymity of the elegant yet highly functional hotel bar, Kaitlin sipped the last of her pomegranate cooler. The non-alcoholic blend of sweet and sour was exactly what she’d needed to revive her.
Come on, Kaitlin.
It wasn’t the beverage, nor the comfort of the cream-cushioned round-backed seats, nor even the vivid splash of bright yellow flower arrangements—it was the man.
Daniel lacked her brother’s classic handsomeness—the slight crook to his nose indicated that it might well have been broken once, and his features were craggy rather than aquiline—but in sheer presence he could rival Gabriel, even if the latter was the Earl of Wycliffe.
He projected a raw energy—a force that showed in the intense blue of his eyes, the jut of his jaw, the sheer focus he bestowed on her. It was a focus underlain with a pull of attraction that caused a warning bell to toll in the dim recesses of her brain that knew the sheer scale of the stupidity of all this.
Attraction was a tug she couldn’t afford to feel—an emotion that in truth she had never felt. The blight, she assumed, was a result of her childhood trauma.
Stop, Kaitlin. Don’t go there.
The kidnap was an experience she had done her best to suppress, and she had every intention of keeping it buried in the deepest, darkest depths of her psyche, never to surface. After all she had created her safe, controlled Lady Kaitlin persona to achieve that exact obliteration of her memory banks.
‘Another drink?’ he asked, and his deep voice caressed her skin like velvet and decadent chocolate. ‘Or how about dinner?’
‘Thank you.’
But no—they were the words she knew she should say. Each minute she spent with Daniel increased the risk of recognition, the possibility that she would slip up and reveal her true identity. That would be a disaster—her parents would be incoherent with anger if Lady Kaitlin Derwent was revealed to have been picked up by a stranger in a Barcelona bar. Because—and she might as well face it—if she agreed to dinner this would no longer be a ‘medical’ interlude. It would move into different territory altogether. An unfamiliar minefield of a terrain. So...
‘But I don’t want to disrupt your plans. I’m fine now. Thank you for coming to my rescue.’
‘I have no plans.’ There was a bleak note in his voice under the casual disclaimer.
‘You must have had some plans,’ she countered. ‘You were on your way somewhere when you ran into me.’
‘Nowhere specific. Wherever the night took me.’
His shoulders lifted and her gaze snagged on their breadth. Once again awareness struck—an undercurrent that swirled between them across the square glass-topped table.
‘So what do you say?’
‘I...I shouldn’t.’
‘Why not?’ Ice-blue eyes met hers. ‘Is anyone else expecting you?’
‘No.’
‘So you’re here alone?’
Kaitlin hesitated...couldn’t face the complications involved in a full explanation. And, anyway, to all intents and purposes she was alone. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then how about dinner? No strings. We’re two people alone in a vibrant city and I could do with some company.’
The words held a ring of truth, and for a moment she wondered what demons he wanted to hold at bay.
Temptation warred with the final grains of common sense, which pointed out that after all she had to eat.
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘I had a reservation at one of Barcelona’s best restaurants—I could try and resurrect it.’
Kaitlin frowned. ‘So you did have plans?’
‘Let’s say my plans didn’t materialise.’
An underlying harshness coated the words and pain flashed across those blue eyes.
Kaitlin hesitated, sensing that the man opposite her was hurting. Clearly he’d been stood up. Doubt unfurled—somehow that didn’t seem a possibility. It wasn’t a scenario that played true.
Ridiculous. Yes, he was good-looking and magnetic and...and... But she hardly knew him or his relationship background.
Yet more reasons to make her exit now.
But she didn’t want to. Never again would she have a chance like this. To be free, to shed the ‘Lady Kaitlin’ persona. Because soon there would be the meeting with Prince Frederick of Lycander—a meeting at which she needed to demonstrate her suitability to be a Lycander bride and then...
Enough. She wouldn’t—couldn’t think of that now.
‘Dinner sounds wonderful. A night of freedom before I step into a gilded cage.’
Oh, hell. She’d said the words out loud. and now this stranger looked at her with a sharpness, an intensity she couldn’t fathom. Almost as if it were someone else he saw, not her.
‘Never voluntarily step into a cage you don’t have a key to unlock.’
The words had an edge—a meaning she needed to deflect. Tonight she didn’t want to think about the marriage that awaited her—a marriage that she had believed she wanted. An alliance...a safe future and a role she would excel in.
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ She turned her lips up into her Lady Kaitlin smile—friendly yet deflecting. ‘Now, I’d prefer to think about dinner. But there’s no need for Barcelona’s best restaurant.’ That was Lady Kaitlin’s milieu. ‘Let’s just walk and see where the night takes us.’
Innate caution pointed out that this man was a stranger—instinct told her she could trust him, but she knew all too well the follies of trust and a tendril of panic unfurled.
Think.
‘In the meantime, before we go, I’m going to call a friend and tell her I’ll be checking in every hour.’
No need to tell Lynette that she was having dinner with a stranger; instead she’d say she was walking alone and would feel better if she could check in.
‘Works for me.’
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
To Kaitlin’s relief Lynette didn’t make a big deal of the situation—she seemed to accept that Kaitlin never travelled alone and that the aristocracy were ultra-security-conscious.
And so ten minutes later she and Daniel stepped out of the hotel’s revolving doors into the hustle and bustle of the Barcelona street.
Instinctively Kaitlin halted, almost overwhelmed by the sheer buzz that emanated from the throngs of chattering people. Her gaze darted to the street performers who plied their expertise for the amusement of passers-by. The scents of garlic and chilli and spices wafted from the numerous tapas bars that dotted the early medieval streets and overflowed with evening revellers.
‘You OK?’
Kaitlin pushed her shoulders back and nodded. Panic would not ruin this evening. The old dormant fear that coloured her every move, that made her live her life bound by rules and regulations and routine, would be suspended tonight. No one knew her identity; no one had any interest in snatching her now.
‘I’m fine. It’s just so vibrant it stopped me in my tracks.’
Yet instinct had her walking close to his reassuring warmth—logical or not, she sensed that Daniel would keep her safe. Perhaps it was the confident, swagger-free, don’t-mess-with-me aura he projected, or the sheer lithe muscular strength in each step. Whatever it was, it worked, and as they walked Kaitlin relaxed, absorbed the sights, the awe-inspiring grand patchwork of architectural styles that graced the skyline, where dark Gothic façades neighboured the harlequin buildings of the Modernistas.
But it wasn’t only the Barcelona experience that she absorbed—as they walked her whole body hummed with an awareness of Daniel... Something shimmered and sizzled in the air between them, exacerbated by the occasional brush of their hands or the press of their bodies against each other in the crowds. Each touch sent heat through her, caused her tummy to loop the loop.
Even more head-spinning was the knowledge that he felt the same way; she could sense it—see it in the hunger of his blue gaze when it rested on her.
Some space, time out, seemed a good idea, so she could make an attempt to process the enormity of her reactions. ‘Shall we eat?’ she suggested pointing to a tapas bar. ‘That one looks as good as any.’
‘Sure.’
She followed him into the dimly lit packed interior and watched as he managed to snag one of the few small square tables covered in plastic red and white checked tablecloths.
As they looked around she realised where they were. ‘It’s a pintxo bar. I’ve never been in one—but I think they originate from the Basque region of Spain.’
He nodded. ‘Basically pintxos are mouth-sized tapas—always skewered with toothpicks. We just go up to the bar, help ourselves and tuck in. We keep the toothpicks and at the end we pay by the number of toothpicks.’
Kaitlin eyed the throng of people at the bar, most of them standing and eating, chatting and drinking with abandon. She knew that even with the new-found freedom of being ‘Lynette’ she couldn’t risk it. Not the possibility of another panic attack brought on by the crowd or that of being recognised.
Daniel looked at her with a glint of amusement. ‘I can go and get a selection for us both.’
‘Thank you. That would be kind.’ Perhaps a touch too much aristocratic hauteur in her voice there, and she eased it with a smile. ‘I’ll order the drinks.’
Ten minutes later he returned to the table. ‘Here we go.’
‘Delicious. Ham empanadillas, sobrassada sausage with honey, apple and crispy Idiazabal cheese pintxos made of chicken, tempura with saffron mayonnaise, melted provolone with mango and ham, and a mini-brochette of pork.’
‘That’s an impressive Spanish accent. I take it you speak the language?’
‘A little.’ The Duchess had ensured Kaitlin was fluent in a number of languages.
‘You must be prepared, Kaitlin, should you marry into European aristocracy.’
‘As part of your job?’
‘No. I work in an art gallery.’ No harm in sharing that fact; lots of people worked in art galleries, after all.
He speared a pinxto and surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘So, are you here on business? Barcelona has plenty of art.’
Kaitlin shook her head. ‘This trip is personal.’
‘Are you in trouble?’
The unexpectedness of the question caused her to tense, and a drop of sangria slopped over the edge of her glass and hit the wooden table. Placing her glass down carefully, Kaitlin mopped up the red liquid with a napkin, watching the cloth absorb the ruby stain.
‘We had this conversation earlier and I said no.’
‘I know you did. I’m not sure I believe you.’
‘I’m not in trouble. I came to Barcelona because I needed some space. Tonight I want to forget the past and the future and live in the present.’
An arrested expression flickered across his face in the candlelit alcove. ‘A night of freedom?’ he said, quoting her words from earlier.
‘Yes.’
Daniel raised his glass. ‘To your night of freedom.’
His blue eyes met hers and what she saw shot a funny little thrill through her and she stilled. The sheer unfamiliarity of the sensation made her light-headed, made her dizzy with its intensity, and her body felt energised as every nerve-end tingled in anticipation.
The hours danced by, and the air was tinged with motes of awareness as they talked of everything and nothing. By mutual unspoken consent the conversation veered away from the personal, so they discussed music, films and philosophy. But every word was punctuated by a growing expectancy—a heady underlying responsiveness and a growing realisation of where the evening might end up.
Eventually they shared a dessert, a decadent dark chocolate concoction, and as she spooned up the last sumptuous bite she met his gaze, saw desire ignite in his eyes. Then gently he took the spoon from her suddenly nerveless fingers and placed it on the plate. The chink of metal on china rang loud in her ear.
Oh, so gently he reached out and ran his thumb across her lower lip. She gasped—a small, involuntary sound—at the potency of her own reaction. Sensation uncoiled in her tummy...a need she’d never felt before. Without thought she cupped his jaw, wondered at the feel of his six o’clock shadow. Then his lips descended to hers and the world seemed to stop.
There was the taste of coffee and chocolate, the whirling rush of need, and the intense, sweet pleasure that streamed through her veins and sent a tingling rush to every bit of her body. Never before had she felt like this.
He pulled back, his breathing ragged, and he looked at her with such intensity as he said her name. ‘Lynette...’
It was a reminder that she had this night and this night only. Ideas swirled round her head. A touch of fear as to whether she could do this, however much she wanted to—and, dammit, she wanted to.
For one grim instant the image of her dark, bearded kidnapper splayed through her vision, and then she looked at Daniel and the picture faded, dissipated by the white-hot burn of desire.
‘I think we should move this somewhere else.’
‘Are you sure?’
She was so sure—because she knew that these feelings could never happen to Lady Kaitlin. Perhaps because of the horror of what had happened during the kidnap... Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. The fact remained that the odds were she would never feel like this again, and right now, caught in the sheer, dizzying sensual mesh of desire, Kaitlin knew she wanted this man. Against all reason it felt right. It could only be for one night, but so be it.
‘Yes. I’m sure.’
