by Edie Harris
“So why is it beyond the realm of possibility that I might have asked you on a date, if she knows your background?”
“Is that what you would’ve done, Toby—ask me on a date?” Her stomach fluttered momentarily, but she breathed through the discomfort.
He reached behind them into the cooler and withdrew a bottle of water, popping the cap and taking a hearty sip. “Since I highly doubt anyone would believe that you asked me, I think it best we choose that direction. We met in somewhere public, and I was intrigued enough to want to know more about you.”
Ignoring the obnoxious internal tug at the word intrigued, she twisted her torso to lean casually against the door. “Two things. One, why wouldn’t I have asked you out?” It didn’t matter that he was right and she would never in a thousand years dare approach a man as coolly put-together with his suits and his watches and his never-a-hair-out-of-place looks; it was a matter of principle. “And two, ‘we met somewhere public’? Like, a Starbucks?”
“A Starbucks would suffice.” His prickly voice matched all his pointy edges, which oddly made her want to grin.
She didn’t grin. “Fine. Starbucks. What did I order?”
“Mint tea with one sugar.”
She blinked at him, stunned to realize that was exactly what she always ordered when the green-logoed commercial giant was her only option for a hot beverage. “What was I wearing?”
“That depends on what your cover identity is with everyone who is not your sister.” He slanted her a considering glance shaded by the dark lenses covering his eerie gray eyes. “Though I’m sure you’re aware that I already know your cover, given my obvious familiarity with your personnel file.”
Years ago, Chandler and Pippa had legally adopted their aunt’s last name of Landry, but once Chandler joined MI6, she had informally reverted to her original surname, in an effort to distance her identity from Pippa’s. Life as a spy was dangerous, and Chandler refused to make it any easier for an enemy to link her to her twin. To those Pippa introduced, she was Chandler Landry, a low-level bank manager working for a Swiss-owned financial institution with a Vauxhall branch not far from MI6 headquarters. “You’d be smart to remember which name to call me by when we’re in company, then.”
“I live to be so smart, Ms. McCallister.” The bastard’s lips dared to curve in a slight smile. “We met a month ago at the Starbucks near your office on the embankment. I had a meeting with an aeroengineering firm in the area, was standing behind you in line and asked if you liked the model of mobile phone you held in your hand.”
She couldn’t decide whether or not she was amused. “Oh? And what kind of mobile was that?”
“Yours, of course.” He took another sip from his water bottle. “What we took off you when you had your extended stay in the Underground. I have it in my luggage for your use when we arrive at our destination.”
Decidedly not amused, then. “You still haven’t answered the question. What was I wearing?”
“Gray wide-leg wool trousers, ivory silk blouse, suede pumps in royal blue and little gold hoops in your ears. Your lips were pink, your hair down and wavy and you carried a small black handbag over your shoulder.”
Amusement the furthest thing from her mind now, she glared at him, wishing she had her own pair of sunglasses to shield the thoughts blazing in her eyes. Intelligent prig that he was, she’d bet him aware of every invisible dagger she sent his direction. “Did you look in my closet, Faraday?” The violation singed her beneath the skin.
He shook his head. “I had our people go through CCTV footage of you over the past year. It was what you wore the last time you worked a shift at the bank.”
A shift she only worked a few times a year in order to maintain her cover, should anyone from the “real” world come calling. She vaguely remembered having dressed in that very outfit prior to her months in Moscow.
Knowing he hadn’t rifled through her personal belongings in her tiny flat, but had, instead, pulled surveillance calmed the anger surging in her veins. He knew nothing more than any other government employee monitoring the feeds on any given day, aside from his access to her entire history from age eighteen onward.
But he was aware of more than just her professional background. He knew about Reggie. He knew about the violence imprinted on her soul. “The weak line about my phone worked, I take it.”
“No, it didn’t.”
And it wouldn’t have, either. Damn it, how did he know, when he didn’t know her? “So how do we get from the Starbucks line to my sister’s wedding, which is already heralded by the Guardian as the must-attend marriage of the year?”
He drove quietly for a moment. “I have decided you did, in fact, ask me out. Though I think perhaps it was less of a request and more of a dare.”
It pained her to acknowledge he had observed her well enough in the month of their acquaintance to predict how she would respond in such a situation. “A little mockery never hurt anyone,” she murmured, acquiescing to building their backstory together. “I said I’d heard better pick-up lines from a bank roll, and you—”
“I said I would hand over whatever denomination had offered you that pick-up line on the spot if you’d have dinner with me that night.”
“Can’t help flashing your cash, can you, Cheekbones?”
“What did you just call me?”
She ignored him. “You dropped a few hundred quid on dinner that night. I said yes, and no one will stop to question why.”
“I’m questioning why.”
Sighing, she slumped back into the seat. “Because my sister is marrying an aristocrat, and even without that, she moves in lofty circles due to her clients. I’m a...a bank employee with no university education. Obviously, I’m jealous of her.” She wasn’t—oh, how she wasn’t—but Chandler didn’t expect anyone to buy that particular truth.
Anyone with the exception of Tobias Faraday, evidently. “People are idiots.”
Surprise had her swallowing. “Yes. People are idiots.”
“And to answer your impertinent question, I have not ‘played boyfriend’ before.”
Something in how he said it, grudgingly and as though he couldn’t not share, had her straightening in her seat. “Yeah, but you’ve dated before, right?”
“No.”
No. Just...no. There was a snark comment she could make, she knew she could, but her mind raced with the implications of his denial. “Never dated” had the potential to mean any number of things—no long-term girlfriends, no short-term girlfriends, no blind dates. And, maybe, also, perhaps, no one-night stands or hook-ups or...or sexual partners of any kind.
But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?
Her head swung forward and stayed there, eyes wide as she stared directly through the windshield, gazing neither left nor right because looking at him would reveal the blatant questions no doubt stamped on her face. Questions about sex and Tobias Faraday had zero business being in her brain. Zero. “Oh. Brilliant.”
Thank God the rest of the drive to Wolverhampton was spent in complete silence.
More than two hours later, they were solidly northwest of London and driving past towns small and large to delve deeper into the rural greenery. Fields and forests, the occasional chapel and rectory until a sign took them off the main thoroughfare and onto a winding road. They climbed a hill, dipped into a valley and when they breached the opposite side and rolled through a wrought-iron archway, they were greeted by something out of a haunted fairy tale. Val Manor, the ancestral home of the viscounts Valsar and, apparently, Pippa’s next interior design overhaul.
Chandler peered through the windshield with mild trepidation, her mind spinning as she tried to remember all her sister had told her about this place and its inhabitants. “Looks like bloody Thornfield Hall.” Dark and dreary and huge and, somehow, gilded, t
hough not by the sun, the clouds having taken hold of the countryside at large.
Faraday smoothly slowed the car to a halt at the foot of the front steps, pale limestone gravel crunching softly beneath the tires. “Shall we place bets on how many psychotic wives reside in the attic?”
Her lips firmed. “My money’s on three.”
A pair of suited footmen circled the vehicle to open their doors for them—the one on Chandler’s side offered his white-gloved hand, and unlike with Faraday, she took it. The boot was popped, the luggage removed and whisked away through the open doors of the sprawling mansion as another overly tailored servant took the key fob from Faraday. Moments later, the Mercedes gently rolled down the drive and disappeared around the far side of the house.
Chandler and Faraday had made it as far as the first step when a slim blonde firecracker of a woman in a cherry-red sheath dress and pale-pink cardigan dashed through the doors and down the steps. A heartbeat later, Chandler’s arms were open and her twin was wrapped around her in a bone-shattering hug.
Pippa stood an inch taller, weighed a stone less and her naturally dark blond hair had been lightened to a multihued champagne shade, and she was beautiful. Chandler buried her face in her sister’s neck, squeezing her eyes shut to ward off tears.
Until this very second, Chandler realized, she hadn’t believed she would ever see her twin again. The jagged edges inside her smoothed, soothed by Pippa’s warmth, Pip’s scent, Pippa’s exhilarated giggle against her ear. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” she whispered before reluctantly loosening her hold.
“I’ve missed you, too!” Pippa cupped Chandler’s face in both hands, beaming delightedly as her bright brown gaze flicked to Faraday. “But I haven’t had a chance to discover whether I’ll miss this man yet. Introduce us, Chan?”
Disengaging from Pippa, Chandler turned, only to see her keeper, the Ice King himself, revealing perfect white teeth in an inviting smile directed squarely at Pippa, his sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket of his suit. “Tobias Faraday, of Faraday Industries in Boston,” he said smoothly, offering his ungloved hand, which she immediately shook. “I’ve heard so much about you, Pip.”
“Oh, no, no, no. I’m Pippa to everyone but little Miss Mary Chandler here—” the bubbly blonde grinned a cheeky grin when Chandler winced “—so if you call me otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll need ammunition to use against you.”
“Ammunition for an arms manufacturer?” Cameron Nolte teased his fiancée as he hopped down the steps, slinging an arm around Pippa’s shoulders. Floppy brown hair fell over a high brow, his features narrow but attractive, his frame similar—narrow but attractive. “Talk about a metaphor.”
Faraday shocked Chandler again with a warm smile directed at her sister, his hand heavy at the base of Chandler’s spine. “My middle name is Haroun. My mother is Moroccan,” he explained, “and gave her children names to honor that half of our culture. I promise you, Pippa, there is nothing more terrifying than the words ‘Tobias Haroun Faraday’ being shouted up the stairs whenever I’d done something that could perhaps be construed as...misbehaving.”
Pippa laughed, loud and genuine. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but I now quite desperately wish for you to misbehave this week.” She winked at Chandler. “I’m sure you can arrange it, Chan.”
Chandler’s belly tightened like a fist, stanching any possible flutters from the starting gate. “Tobias doesn’t misbehave anymore, do you?” She glanced up at him, wondering how no one else saw the ice in his eyes.
“Not unless properly tempted.”
While Cameron and Pippa laughed at what they assumed was an intimate taunt, Chandler could only stare openmouthed. No fist tightened quick enough to stop this round of flutters, an uncomfortable mix of nausea and heat cresting in a wave to smother her insides. The second he’d stepped out of his sexy car in front of Val Manor, Faraday had transformed into a total stranger.
Except...wasn’t he a stranger to her in either form? The prison guard and the charming gentleman, they couldn’t possibly be the same man, and regardless which persona he wore at whatever moment in time he occupied, she didn’t know him. Not know him know him, and thinking otherwise was beyond dangerous.
She’d made a promise to herself two days ago, a promise she needed to keep in the forefront of her mind at all times until this week ended and she upheld her end of the bargain by taking Faraday directly into hell. No more fluttering, or tightening, or thinking the word sex in any and every context as far as the attorney at her side was concerned.
She hated him. She was using him, as he was using her, and she hated him. He’d taken away her freedom. His vengeance would likely get her killed. She had imagined at least one hundred varying means of murdering him in the past month.
Chandler could not forget that.
“...inside and we’ll show you to your room,” Pippa was saying as she gestured for them to follow her and Cameron up the steps and through the front double doors.
“Room, singular?” Faraday asked lightly.
Pippa’s cheeky grin made another appearance, and Chandler decided strangulation marks might make a chic accessory with her wedding gown. “Despite the trappings, Tobias, we’re not as formal as one might think. This week is all about romance, after all.”
Faraday nodded. “Ah.”
Yeah, no kidding.
Cameron paused at the foot of the stairs when an older woman glided across the foyer. “Mother, come meet Pippa’s sister, Chandler.” He ushered the viscountess forward until she stood next to him. “Oh, and Chandler’s boyfriend, Tobias Faraday.”
Victoria, Lady Valsar, didn’t spare so much as a glance for Chandler, her attention fixed firmly on Faraday. “Mr. Faraday,” she murmured, her voice frail, the hand she extended limp, pale blue eyes scanning his face. When he took her hand, she inhaled abruptly, but Chandler didn’t think it was a physical reaction. The gray-haired woman looked as though she were meeting Bono. “Welcome to Val Manor.”
“Thank you, madam.” Faraday dropped her hand before shifting to stand closer to Chandler, who barely managed to keep from stiffening. “Have you been introduced to your future daughter-in-law’s twin sister?” Again, his touch landed at the small of her back, bringing her into the circle of the viscountess’s awareness.
Those blue eyes sharpened on Chandler. No hand was extended, but she received a polite nod. “I believe Philippa mentioned your given name is Mary Chandler?”
“Just Chandler, my lady.” She wasn’t leaning into Faraday’s hand. She wasn’t. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Of course.” And with that, Lady Valsar was done with them, though she offered Faraday one last, lingering look, which Faraday appeared not to notice.
Needing to distance herself from Faraday, she slipped between Cameron and Pippa as they ascended the stairs, her arm linking through her sister’s when Pippa tugged her closer. “We need to talk,” she whispered into Chandler’s ear. “About—”
“I know what about. I told you, I took care of it.” Shaking the private investigator by scaring him half to death had been five minutes’ work but would protect her sister’s future for the next five decades. “Later, I promise.” Somehow, she would evade her guard’s notice for long enough to allay the worst of Pippa’s fears. If this was the final time she’d see her twin, she would leave here with Pippa feeling completely and utterly safe.
The upper floor of the manor split at the top of the stairs into opposite halls, and they were led to the right, around a corner where a tall, ornate door stood wide open. Chandler entered first, vaguely aware of Cameron talking, sharing the history of the suite.
The room was large, obscenely so, and dark. Heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows overlooking an expanse of green garden. The walls on either side of the gigantic four-poster bed bore tapestries, and two long d
ressers were positioned next to a door that appeared to lead into an ensuite bathroom. A settee faced the foot of the bed, stuffed and tufted in an outdated style that undoubtedly had Pippa cringing, and their luggage was situated near a side table with a tarnished Tiffany lamp.
She felt Pippa squeeze her hand, heard Faraday thank Cameron for giving them a while to “freshen up” after the long drive, and suddenly they were alone. She and Faraday. In a room with only one sleeping surface.
He beat her to it. “We’re not sharing the bed.”
“Hell, no.”
His considering gray eyes were clear. “I will take the sofa.”
“Gentlemanly of you.” If nothing else, Chandler could say that for Tobias Faraday. His manners were impeccable, his behavior unimpeachable. No matter the conditions of her capture, interrogation and incarceration by Faraday Industries, she had been treated humanely. In those circumstances, if she were being entirely honest, she couldn’t ask for better.
Nodding toward the dresser, she waved to his immaculate travel case, leather overnight bag and suit bag. “Unpack then washroom, or other way around?”
He hefted his overnight bag, moving to one of the dressers. “You’re welcome to the bathroom first.” Drawers began opening, his broad shoulders to her as she exhaled away the stiffness from her limbs and muscles.
Relaxation wouldn’t come until the week was over and she was on a plane to Russia, no matter how much she dreaded her return to Moscow. But she could take steps to remedy her tension, and the weight in her hand was the cure.
Three. She thumbed free the blade of the stolen pocket multitool.
Two. He turned.
