Claimed By The Wealthy Magnate

‘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.’

CHAPTER TWO

Nine months later...

DANIEL HARRINGTON PAUSED on the threshold of the immense marquee, his ice-blue eyes scanning the wedding guests with ruthless disregard. One part of his brain registered the glorious elegance that graced the wedding reception of Gabriel Derwent, Earl of Wycliffe, heir to the Duke of Fairfax. The sumptuous drapes of organza, the glittering twinkle of the fairy lights and the splash of colour provided by the overhanging Chinese lanterns. The delicate scent of flowers pervaded the air—gloriosa and hyacinth, decked the canvas in lavish arrangements.

But in truth Daniel had no interest in the décor, and limited interest in the bride and groom. He was here for one reason and one reason only, and his eyes continued their systematic search, skipping over the rich, the famous and the ordinary on a quest to find Lady Kaitlin Derwent—sister to the groom, and the bride’s maid of honour.

Earlier in the proceedings he’d watched her walk down the aisle amidst a bevy of bridesmaids, all dressed in different jewel shades, a medley of beauty. But the only woman he’d been interested in was her, Lady Kaitlin, and as he’d studied her poised, graceful movements suspicion had begun the conversion process to confirmation.

Yet it was still nigh on impossible to believe that the poised Titian-haired beauty, clad in expensive designer teal-green, was the same woman he’d met nine months before in a Barcelona hotel. But as the hymns and the vows had resonated from the rafters of the picturesque medieval church his gaze had never once ceased its lingering on her beautiful features, and certainty had dawned.

Daniel had no doubt whatsoever that ‘Lynette’ and Katlin Derwent were one and the same.

Now, in the vast marquee that housed the reception party, he located her. Stood in a corner, deep in conversation with a tall blond man he knew to be Prince Frederick, ruler of the Principality of Lycander. Raw emotion slammed into his gut. Anger alongside the unwanted sting of desire and a primal instinct that yelled mine.

Instinctively he bunched his hands into fists.

Cool it, Dan. Violence no longer featured in his life as a solution, and initiating a brawl was not an option. After all, Prince Frederick was blameless in this whole sorry mess, and it shouldn’t matter to Daniel that Kaitlin’s hand rested on the Prince’s forearm as she looked up at him.

Yet anger at her deception still pulsed in his veins. Along with the memory of his sense of loss and chagrin when he’d woken up in the swish Barcelona hotel to find no sign of the woman he’d shared such an amazing night with. Not so much as a blonde hair curled on the pillow had spoken of her presence. No strand or fibre of clothing. Just an elusive trace of her rose scent, and the ache in his body that had awoken him in the expectation of her still being beside him.

Then had come worry—heightened by the fact that it had been her first time...a fact she had refused to elaborate on or discuss. Had he mistaken the wonder of the night? Did she have regrets that her first experience had been with a stranger?

Then had come the conviction that she was in trouble. Hell, he’d even wondered if she’d been forced to leave. More fool him.

Anger burned cold under his control.

He allowed only the civilised approach—Daniel got what he wanted through law, order and fair negotiation. That had been his vow a decade ago, and he’d lived by those rules ever since.

Frustration tautened his sinews with the desire to lash out. He would not revert to type—would not embrace the ethos of his family. That was why he’d walked away ten years before, though the cost had been high.

A memory snaked into his brain: his mother’s beautiful face, twisted in entreaty as she’d stretched out a pleading hand. ‘Don’t go, Danny. Please don’t walk out through that door.’

‘Daniel.’

He swivelled in recognition of the well-modulated tones of Gabriel Derwent, groom and brother of the Lady Kaitlin.

‘Glad you could make it.’

Gabriel smiled and Daniel blinked—the Earl radiated palpable happiness.

‘Etta. This is Daniel Harrington—CEO of Harrington Legal, a new associate of my father’s, and also a new patron of the Caversham Foundation.’

Daniel recognised the slight edge to Gabriel’s voice and couldn’t blame him. He’d negotiated an invitation to this wedding with the Duke of Fairfax, Gabriel’s father, by dint of making a sizeable donation to the Derwent Manor restoration fund. When Gabriel had found out he’d called Daniel and explained that he wanted an additional price—a ‘donation with a difference’ to the Caversham Foundation, a charitable trust that helped troubled teenagers.

‘Daniel, this is my wife—Etta.’

Pride and awe touched the syllables, and Etta positively beamed, her tawny eyes sparkling with joy.

Daniel searched his repertoire of happy wedding talk. ‘Congratulations,’ he mustered.

Though who knew for what? Marriage shackled you, created ties that would bind and link and imprison you. His own mother’s marriage was proof of that.

‘Thank you.’ Gabriel studied his expression and his smile widened. ‘Though I get the feeling you aren’t a fan of marriage.’

‘It’s just not for me.’

Etta shook her head. ‘Perhaps you haven’t met the right woman.’

His gaze must have flicked across to Kaitlin for a fraction of a second, because Gabriel followed his line of sight and his forehead creased in a small frown.

Daniel thought rapidly. ‘Though from what I’ve read it sounds as though your sister will follow in your footsteps shortly?’

Keep it casual.

‘Perhaps,’ Gabriel said, his frown deepening, almost as if he didn’t like the idea.

‘Why don’t we introduce you?’ Etta suggested.

Bingo. Not exactly the way he’d planned it—but Daniel was nothing if not versatile. ‘Great.’

Gabriel strode towards where Kaitlin and the Prince were engrossed in conversation. Satisfaction brought a small, cold smile to Daniel’s lips as he followed.

* * *

Kaitlin looked up at Prince Frederick and tried to suppress the all too familiar feelings of panic. Chill out. Or chillax. Or whatever the current phrase was. But she couldn’t—despite the size of the marquee she felt hemmed in, and fear knotted her tummy into a tangle of panic. Which was nuts. She was standing next to royalty—how much safer could she be? The Prince would have strategically placed bodyguards everywhere.

Though you could argue that those bodyguards were only interested in the protection of the Prince—she’d no doubt be seen as collateral damage.

No, that wasn’t fair. Frederick would care. Not because he loved her—he’d been upfront about that—but because he was a dutiful man. Or at least she thought he was—the Prince was even better than she was at keeping his true self under wraps.

Yet over the past months she’d learnt he had a moral code that meant he would protect her out of duty.

So she was safe. But, however many times her brain told her that, her nerves still fluttered with an anxiety that increased daily—a throwback to all those years ago when it had been her constant companion. If she was honest, the panic had been on the up ever since her disastrous trip to Barcelona nine months before.

Barcelona. Don’t go there.

As for the panic—she’d tamed it once, and she’d tame it again. All she had to do was be Lady Kaitlin—be the calm, in control woman she’d taught herself to be. The woman who could produce suitable emotion on tap without feeling a thing.

‘We need to talk, Kaitlin. In private.’

Oh, hell. She knew exactly what Prince Frederick wanted to talk about—he wanted to propose and she just didn’t want him to. Not yet. Not ever, said a small, defiant voice that she tuned out without compunction. This was what she wanted—what most women would rip their own arm off for. Marriage to a wealthy, handsome prince who also possessed the bonus of a moral code. So of course she wanted him to propose—but just not now.

‘Yes, we do. But not here. This is Gabe and Etta’s day. I don’t want us to overshadow it in any way.’

She’d been there and done that at her sister’s wedding, and the guilt still pinged within her.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think us having a conversation will overshadow Gabe’s wedding. In truth, I don’t think anything could overshadow this day for him. Gabe is a man in love.’

Frederick was right—though who would have thought it? Her big brother, nearly as big an emotional disaster zone as Kaitlin herself, had succumbed to the biggest emotion of all and fallen hook, line and sinker for Etta Mason.

‘Even so...it is still their day. If we disappear to have a “private” conversation every reporter in the room will clock it.’

To say nothing of her parents. The Duke and Duchess of Fairfax were watching their eldest daughter like a pair of hawk-eagle hybrids.

The Prince frowned, and it was a relief to hear the deep sound of her brother’s voice from behind her.

‘Kait.’

She turned gracefully, smile in place to greet the euphoric bridegroom, and then she froze. Her brain scrambled for purchase and her stomach nosedived as her eyes absorbed the identity of the man standing next to her brother. Surely she was in the throes of a hallucination? Please let that be the case. She’d take the prospect of insanity over reality in a heartbeat.

Pulling up every ounce of learned poise and ability to rise to any social occasion, she forced her jaw to remain clenched and prayed that no one could hear the accelerated pounding of her heart as she let her gaze rest on the man next to Gabe.

No doubt about it—it was Daniel.

Same dark brown hair, same raw energy that couldn’t be concealed by the expensively tailored suit. Those oh-so-familiar ice-blue eyes met hers full-on and she could read the anger in their depths. An anger she didn’t—couldn’t—blame him for. After the most magical night imaginable she’d sneaked away into the chilly Barcelona dawn without so much as a by your leave. Worse, she had lied shamelessly about her identity.

What to do? What to do now?

There was zilch she could do—except hope that he wouldn’t expose her. Yet even as her head reeled with the sheer horror of the situation, and its potential for disaster, her body betrayed her with a frisson of memory that prickled her skin.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Gabe said, though Kaitlin noted there was not so much as a hint of apology in his tone. ‘But I wanted to introduce you to someone. Kaitlin, this is Daniel Harrington. He has made a generous contribution to the manor and is also linked with the Caversham Foundation.’

Mind racing, Kaitlin forced her lips to turn up in a polite smile with a touch of appreciation. Her years of careful practice in front of a mirror to perfect a smile for any occasion was coming in handy. Even as her brain seethed with tumult it tried to come to terms with the scale of the disaster.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, her voice even as she held out one perfectly manicured hand, impressed to see that her fingers didn’t so much as tremble. It was a shame the same couldn’t be said of her insides. Then he clasped her hand in his, in the briefest of handshakes, and a funny little thrill raced through her bloodstream.

No! No! No! There could be no thrills of any sort—that was a complete non-starter. It was imperative to focus, to work out a way to end this whole scenario before her life imploded. In public.

‘Likewise,’ Daniel said, his voice silk-smooth and deadly as nightshade. ‘I must admit I hoped to meet you today.’ A smile utterly devoid of mirth turned up his lips. ‘I’d like to discuss a project with you—I realise this is a big day for you, and you have lots of duties as maid of honour, but it will only take a few minutes.’

Kaitlin quelled the urge to cover her ears, close her eyes and hope that would equate to sudden invisibility. But that wasn’t an option. Somehow Daniel had worked out her identity and he now had the ammunition to embroil her in a scandal. Worse it would impact not just herself, but Frederick as well—and that wasn’t fair. True enough, technically Kaitlin had done nothing wrong—but her association with Frederick had begun near enough to that disastrous Barcelona night as would make no difference. To the press, at least.

This scenario was a nightmare. She had hoped—believed—that she would never see Daniel again, and here he was, requesting a few minutes of her time.

Who was she kidding? His words had been posed as a request, but his eyes were glacial, his jaw was set, and she knew if she didn’t acquiesce he’d have no hesitation in forcing the issue.

‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘I’d be interested to hear what you have to say.’

The words fell from her lips automatically—she didn’t want anyone to suspect how rattled she was. Lady Kaitlin Derwent didn’t do rattled, and now was not the time to start.

‘Well, there’s no time like the present. Would anyone mind if I whisk Kaitlin off?’

Kaitlin blinked. That was not what she had in mind—she’d wanted time to think, regroup.

Prince Frederick glanced at her. ‘It is entirely up to Kaitlin whether it is convenient for her to speak with you now.’

Etta glanced from Daniel to Kaitlin and back again. ‘I don’t need you to do anything but enjoy yourself. That’s what I’m hoping everyone will do.’

Daniel smiled. ‘I promise I’ll keep the business talk to a minimum.’

‘Make sure you do,’ Etta said with a light laugh. ‘Now, we had better mingle.’

Gabe twined an arm round his bride’s waist and they smiled at each other—smiles that could only be described as goofy—and Kaitlin experienced a small pang of envy, felt the sudden ache of emptiness. Exacerbated as she glanced from Frederick’s closed expression to Daniel’s glacial one. Not so much as a hint of goofiness in the vicinity.

Frederick nodded. ‘Make sure you’re back in time for the waltz.’

With that he moved away, through the throng of guests, and within moments had been absorbed into a group.

For a second Kaitlin stood, her high-heeled sandals rooted to the marquee floor, frozen by the surreal impossibility of Daniel’s presence. Fear dried her mouth. How had he found her? What was he going to do? Questions crowded and jostled in her brain, even as she kept her expression neutral. Yet alongside the anxiety that stretched her nerves there was...awareness.

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the memories from tumbling back. Sensations, taste, passion, laughter...the feel of his touch skimming her skin... The very thought made her shiver across the nine-month gap.

Rein it in, Kaitlin.

Because clearly Daniel was not walking that path of memory—his expression displayed a cold anger that was not a happy omen for the forthcoming discussion.

Come on, Kaitlin.

It might still be all right—if he’d wanted to create a scene he surely would have done so by now.

‘How about we take this outside?’ he suggested, his voice hard.

Kaitlin shook her head. ‘No. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us.’

Lord knew she didn’t want anyone to get any idea about them at all—even a glimmer of the truth had the potential to destroy her future.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Bit late to worry about that now, isn’t it?’

‘Shh! For goodness’ sake, could you please keep your voice down? We need to be discreet.’

Her head spun, though she took pride in the knowledge that not a single observer would notice her inner turmoil. All that was on show was the poised, collected Lady Kaitlin Derwent, chatting politely to a wedding guest. Unless, of course, anyone actually overheard the content of the conversation...

He shook his head. ‘Wrong. You need to be discreet. I couldn’t care less. So, if you want discretion I suggest we take this outside. There’s less chance we’ll be overheard or interrupted out there.’

Daniel had a point, and surely there would be some guests outside. The afternoon sun shone down, and what could be more natural than she should show a guest the famed Derwent Manor gardens?

‘OK. Fine.’

They walked towards the entrance of the marquee and somehow, from somewhere, Kaitlin summoned up conversation. ‘So you’re linked with the Caversham Foundation? That’s interesting.’

Daniel’s stride slowed as he stared at her, genuine incredulity etched on the craggy contours of his face. ‘Are you for real? You want to make chit-chat?’

‘For the benefit of the people watching us—yes, I do.’

‘So your image matters that much to you?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was flat. ‘Haven’t you heard? Image is everything.’

To her it truly was. The creation of Lady Kaitlin Derwent’s image had been her own personal version of therapy—the way she’d coped after the kidnap fourteen years before. It had been her way to block out the memories, the fear that lived with her day and night, the coil of panic that lashed round her without warning. Being Lady Kaitlin allowed her to live her life.

‘So, yes, seeing as we are supposed to be engaging in polite conversation, let’s do that.’

He gave one last head-shake of disbelief. ‘Sure. My association with the Caversham Foundation is actually the price your brother requested in return for a wedding invitation. On top of my donation to Derwent Manor—which was your father’s stipulation.’

Keep walking.

‘And you agreed to this just so you could talk to me?’

‘Yes. It’s a good cause, and an association with the Duke and Duchess of Fairfax and their son will be good publicity for my firm. Clients like things like that.’

‘Which firm do you work for?’

‘I’m CEO of Harrington Legal Services.’

Now her footsteps did falter. HLS was huge—a global law firm with offices in every major city in the world.

‘In Barcelona you told me you were a lawyer.’

‘I am a lawyer. And you aren’t in any position to accuse me of messing with the truth.’

Touché.

Kaitlin quickened her pace slightly as they exited the marquee and stepped into the late-afternoon sunshine that bathed the lush green landscaped lawns with dappled light. Other guests stood in small groups as Kaitlin led the way along the gravelled path, lined with lush green manicured hedges, towards a bench she judged to be secluded, but not so isolated as to give anyone reason to gossip.

Once seated, she turned towards him, keeping her smile in place for the benefit of onlookers. ‘So, why are you here, Daniel?’

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS A good question. Why was he here? Sitting in the splendour of Derwent Manor’s famed landscaped gardens. Nearby camellias provided vivid splashes of pink, and their bench overlooked the breathtaking glory of the rhododendron garden for which the Manor was famed.

But in truth the surroundings didn’t matter; right now all that mattered was the woman next to him on the wooden bench in the sunshine. The woman he’d known as ‘Lynette’. The woman whose true identity had turned out to be Lady Kaitlin Derwent.

Anger battled an unwanted stab of desire as he absorbed her sheer beauty.

Titian hair of a near-indescribable shade—tints of auburn interwoven with shades of reddish-gold—cascaded in loose waves to meet creamy bare shoulders that had his fingers tingling. Her dark green eyes met his gaze in a mixture of defiance, vulnerability and hope.

‘Well?’ she repeated. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Because I wanted to check for myself whether Lady Kaitlin Derwent and “Lynette” were one and the same.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘I saw a recent picture of you and Prince Frederick.’

Glaring up at him from the glossy cover of a celebrity magazine, the image had caught his eye at an airport lounge just weeks ago. About to look away something elusive had nagged at him: the set of Lady Kaitlin’s head, the angle of her cheekbones...a willow-the-wisp of recognition.

‘And you recognised me from that?’

‘Not at first.’

At first he’d thought nothing of it. But some instinct had made him purchase his very first gossip rag and study the photograph further. One business flight later he’d known he must be losing the plot—big-time—but the conviction that Lady Kaitlin Derwent and his ‘Lynette’ were one and the same wouldn’t quit. The more he’d researched Lady Kaitlin the more sure he’d become, preposterous though the idea was, that he’d found ‘Lynette’.