Tempted by the Billionaire: A Hometown Hero Series Novel

by Connelly, Clare

  She deserved it. She knew she’d broken his heart, when she had been forced to end their engagement. And if she’d had any other choice, she would have taken it. But, after her father’s ultimatum, there was no way she could go through with their marriage. No way on hell would she expose the guy she loved most in the world to the hurt and pain Kenneth Bartlett intended to inflict.

  So Harrison had moved on.

  Kenneth had forgotten, eventually.

  And Madeline had existed in a frozen sort of state of hell, going through the motions of life whilst sometimes wishing she were no longer in it.

  She unlocked her Mercedes with the same sense of purpose she was famous for; but her heart, her weak heart, was hammering against her slender chest like a butterfly trapped in a glass.

  The drive to the ranch took less than ten minutes. It was just around the cape from the township, and Madeline hugged the coastline with her sports car. She let the top down, despite the inclement, moody day, so that the wind could rustle her perfect hair. She tilted her head upwards a little, enjoying the feeling of the precipitation on her face.

  The ranch was a coastal mansion that had been in the Bartlett family for generations. Their proud lineage had its roots in cotton farming and then banking, and now, politics. Their dynastic presence on Capitol Hill belonged with all the other great political families.

  The ranch reflected their esteemed place in American history. In the Dutch style of architecture, the house was made of timber and painted white, with two long wings joining in a central house. The roof was red brick, and each window had grey shutters. The grounds were expansive and immaculately kept, stretching to the rugged coastline of the North Atlantic. Ancient Oak trees lined the sweeping drive and, Madeline’s car made a crunching noise on the small gravel as she steered it towards the disused stables.

  The house had been the scene of a suffocating childhood, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate it. It was a creation of great, great beauty. She grabbed her Wholefoods bag out of the boot and walked with her innate elegance towards the side entrance.

  “Your father’s eaten already.” Arielle barely looked up when Madeline entered, her groceries hung over one shoulder.

  “I got held up,” she murmured, placing the bag down on the marble bench top. Her cheeks had a very slight, betraying blush, after her quick run from the garages to the main house.

  “No matter. It’s not like he can make it to the dining room now anyway.”

  Madeline’s feelings were in a spin. Though she hated her father, and would never forgive him for how he’d hurt her, the responsibilities she’d been raised to respect reared their heads. “I’m sorry, mama. I meant to be back, only I met someone and…”

  Arielle’s nod was tight. The toll of caring for an invalid Kenneth was showing. Madeline watched with the disinterested pain of an outsider. Eight years away had given her that vantage point.

  “Have you eaten?”

  Madeline looked at her bespoke Tiffany watch with a small shrug. She hadn’t eaten, but she rarely found the time for a meal in the daytime. It was her worst habit – forgetting to eat – and one she was trying hard to break. “I’ll make a coffee. Can I make one for you?”

  Arielle shook her neat blonde head from side to side. “I have enough trouble sleeping as it is.”

  “It’s still lunch time, mama.” Madeline retorted quietly, slipping a pod into the nespresso system. “I’m sure a small coffee won’t keep you up.”

  Arielle, always eager to please, nodded. “A small one, then.”

  Making coffee felt good to Madeline. She rarely got to do it anymore. Between Dean’s aides, her own very obliging personal assistant, not to mention their housekeeper, her domestic obligations were few and far between.

  “How does he seem today?” Madeline had given Kenneth’s room a wide berth all day. Since the night before when he’d shown displeasure in her very existence. Without Dean there, she had little value, after all.

  “The same,” Arielle shrugged. “Unable to believe that he’s actually going to die.” She rubbed her pale fingers with bright red tips over her eyes and dipped her head forwards. “He is really going to die. He is, isn’t he?”

  Madeline nodded wearily. “Yes, mama. And soon.”

  Arielle dipped her head lower, and when she was able to speak again, her voice was a slender husk. “Who did you meet in town?”

  Madeline kept her expression neutral as she lifted the coffee cup to her lips and sipped it gratefully. “A little girl, by the beach.”

  Arielle wasn’t really listening. She was staring at the tabletop, completely distraught. She had spent her life – since she’d turned sixteen – with a man who treated her like a possession. Madeline had never understood how her mother had put up with his domineering ways. But it was clear now that her love had not been out of duty. Arielle’s heart was genuinely breaking at the certainty that her husband was in his last days.

  “Have you heard from KB?” Madeline asked, referring to her brother by the nickname he’d had since childhood. Being the fifth in a line of men to carry the same name had a tendency to cause confusion. The moniker KB neatly avoided that.

  At the mention of her son, Arielle’s expression briefly lifted. In her firstborn, she saw the almost complete reflection of her husband. “He’s still in Hong Kong. You know how depended upon he is. It’s not like he can just up and leave the bank at a moment’s notice.”

  Madeline sipped her coffee again. The implication was subtle, but obvious to Madeline, who’d spent a lifetime being unfavourably compared to her brother. She, Madeline, was less depended upon. She’d received the teary phone call from her mother and dropped everything to be back at the ranch. Never mind that she was a successful human rights lawyer in her own right. True, she kept a minimal caseload so that she could play the part of the congressman’s wife, but she was still busy and well regarded. Just the week earlier, she’d heard that she’d won a protection visa for a child who had fled her own war torn country to escape the abuse of her parents and uncle. The case had been all over the press, but it didn’t matter to anyone in Whitegate.

  Here, the Bartlett Ranch was its very own universe, and Kenneth was the sun and centre of it. KB and Arielle were planets in his orbit and she, Madeline, was simply flotsam on the outer edges of the universe. Trapped by the sun’s gravitational pull, but unable to properly break free.

  “Did he say when he plans on leaving?”

  “Soon.” Arielle’s voice cracked. “Emily emailed this morning to say she’s trying to get him to wrap up swiftly.”

  Madeline smiled at the mention of her sister-in-law. Though they couldn’t be more different, whenever they saw one another, they enjoyed a true companionship. “I’m glad.”

  The storm was coming in closer now, and lightning flashed outside the large bay window, followed by the distant rumble of thunder. “I love storms,” Madeline said with a deep breath. She fixed her gaze on the old tree house high up in the nearest oak, remembering days spent huddled in the timber construction, rugged up and staring out at the pouring rain.

  “You always did,” Arielle said with a tight smile. “Funny creature that you were. I had such a battle with you, though you wouldn’t know it to look at you today. Time was, I couldn’t lay my hands on you for all the grime and mud you insisted on rolling about in.”

  Madeline’s smile was equally forced. “I was a nature child. I loved the outdoors.”

  “I don’t know why. All that ghastly mess. Do you remember the time your brother had to rescue you from the stream?”

  Madeline drank her coffee, though she would have preferred to employ one of Ivy’s eye rolls. “He didn’t rescue me, mama. He pushed me in and then realised I was too young to properly swim. He threw me a rope and laughed.”

  “Sink or swim,” Arielle drawled with a proud shake of her head. “KB was always wonderful with you.”

  “That was not the moral of the story,” Madeline said wit
h a small laugh. “But I survived, so I guess it’s not the end of the world.”

  “No. You’re only thirteen months apart in age, but so different.”

  “Yes.” Madeline had heard that so many times in her youth. Her stomach churned with remembered hurts. The woman sitting across from her was her mother. The woman who’d brought her into this world. And yet Madeline almost felt she was a stranger to her.

  The sound of a buzzer caused both women to jump, before Arielle remembered herself. “Your father,” she explained unnecessarily. “He must want his tea.”

  “I’ll take it to him,” Madeline offered, regretting the words the instant she uttered them.

  “Would you?”

  “Thank you, Madeline. He’s taken a dislike to the housekeeper now, and I’m run ragged with keeping up with his requirements.”

  It was the closest thing to a complaint Madeline had ever heard her mother make. She assembled a tray of tea and shouldered her way out of the kitchen, pausing only to give Arielle one last, slow look. Her mother had returned to her sad vigil. Her head bent, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes half-closed.

  “What took you so damned long, Arielle?”

  Kenneth Bartlett was a shadow of his former self. He’d had a hospital style bed set up in the library, for it was his favourite room of the whole house. He had spent endless evenings poring over the ancient collection of invaluable leather bound books, drinking aged scotch and smoking his beloved cigars. His love for the former had made him bombastic, and his love for the latter had finally brought about his downfall. His emphysema was advanced, and he had less than ten percent lung capacity remaining. The oxygen tanks helped him find comfort, but not much.

  His breath stained the air with its wretched, torturous wheeze. The room smelled of bleach and dust.

  “Hi, daddy,” she said quietly, her eyes not meeting his.

  “Where’s your mother?” He asked gruffly, his words hard to shape because his breath was so thin.

  She placed the tea on the table beside him, and carefully poured a cup from the pot. “She’s in the kitchen.”

  His dark, beady eyes stared at her hands as she tipped two sugars and a dash of milk into the fine porcelain cup and then stirred it three times.

  “Where would you like it?”

  His expression was disapproving. “Put it in my lap.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you to spill ----.”

  “Damn it, Madeline, I’m still capable of holding a damned tea.”

  Madeline would have jumped, except she was used to his quick temper. She placed the tea on top of the blankets, keeping her hands on it until his own slightly wobbly fingers had gripped it firmly.

  He didn’t say thank you. Why would he express gratitude for something he considered was one of Madeline’s obligations of birth? Waiting on people, and falling in with Kenneth’s plans, was part and parcel of being Madeline.

  “Your hair’s a mess.”

  She lifted a hand to her fair head, and ran her fingers over the windswept bun. Yes. For the first time in years, she’d let it have a little fun. It was uncharacteristic and she’d enjoyed it. Even more so now that she saw the reaction she was getting from her father. “Yes. I drove with the top down. It’s blowing a gale out there.”

  “Stupid, idiotic thing to do,” he muttered disapprovingly, then sucked in a large breath and began to cough harshly. Madeline immediately lifted the tea out of his hands, holding it quietly until his episode abated. Then, she placed the tea back in his grip, without a word, and moved to the large windows overlooking the old swimming pool. Built in the twenties, it was resplendent with art deco features. Beautiful ornate tiles formed the entire basin, and in the middle, there was a fountain made from mosaic tiles and copper.

  “You can go.”

  She didn’t turn around. Her father was a stubborn ass of a man, but she knew she needed to wait until he’d finished his tea. With only the sound of the porcelain clattering against the saucer, and his heavy, laboured breathing, Madeline stared out at the immaculate grounds and let herself be pulled inexorably back through the thick wool of time.

  This spot, in this library, was where she’d stood when Kenneth had shown her how impossible it was for her to pursue a future with Harrison Samson.

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