Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate

by Nina Milne

  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, pas
sion, 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’.

  ‘Until today I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure.’

  Her hands twisted together on her lap. Then, as if aware of the gesture, she loosed the grip. ‘You could just have called me. This is a disaster—now you’ve made contact with my family...we have an association.’ Horror etched her classical features. ‘What if we end up meeting again?’

  ‘Then so be it. I wanted to see you face to face—make sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are “Lynette”. Without calling first and giving you a chance to lie. Again.’

  Forcing himself to lean back, Daniel kept his anger in check.

  ‘Plus, it’s hard to call someone who didn’t leave a number, didn’t even give their real name, and who vanished without so much as a goodbye.’

  ‘You knew it was one night only.’

  A night of freedom.

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t know your “one night of freedom” was an aristocrat slumming it with the hoi-polloi.’ Anger at her deception, wrath at his own stupidity in falling for her show, fuelled his words. ‘Is that the new trend—to lose your vir—?’

  Her poise broke and a laser of ire flashed in her eyes. ‘Stop right there. How dare you? That is not what it was. That night was—’

  Breaking off, she pressed her lips together and for a moment vulnerability lit those emerald-green eyes and momentarily sideswiped his anger.

  ‘Was what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I know it was shabby to leave like that, but I had no choice. In case you woke up and realised who I really was. Or someone might have recognised me...seen us together.’

  Sheesh.

  ‘Would that have been so bad?’ Good thing his ego was in good shape.

  ‘Yes.’ The word was delivered with simplicity. ‘The scandal wo
uld have been too much. Especially...’

  ‘Especially because you were planning to marry a prince.’

  ‘No! I mean... I hadn’t decided what to do.’ She twisted her hands into the teal-green folds of her skirt and then, as if realising what she was doing, she smoothed the material and pulled her shoulders back. ‘I wasn’t dating Frederick at the time, but I knew there was a possibility that I would in the future. I was a free agent that night, Daniel, and I didn’t offer more than I could give. One night.’

  ‘But you lied. And you took what I gave under false pretences. I wouldn’t have spent the night with you in Barcelona if I’d known who you were and exactly what your gilded cage was.’

  ‘Why not?’ The question tumbled out and she pressed her lips together as if in regret.

  ‘Because you were as good as promised to another man and I don’t poach.’ The idea was anathema—he’d watched his mother’s repeated humiliation at his stepfather’s numerous infidelities.

  Kaitlin leant forward, shook her head, her red-gold hair swinging as if in emphasis. ‘I was not promised to anyone. Frederick and I had no understanding at that point. It was simply an idea that my parents had put to me. He hadn’t approached me—there had been no discussions.’

  ‘But you knew.’ His voice was implacable. ‘All the time you were with me you knew that you would soon be dating someone else. You as good as said it.’

  ‘One night of freedom before I step into a gilded cage.’

  Her words in Barcelona had been poignant. Because he knew all too well the iron bars of a gilded cage.

  He’d grown up in one—benefited from the gilding, the luxuries, the power, the money, the lifestyle. At what point had he suspected that all those advantages had been bought with money raised from illegal sources? When had he realised what his mother had done?

  Guilt coated his insides. She’d done it for him—to give him all those advantages. His father had been dead, she had been destitute, and so his mother had stepped into a gilded cage, married into the mob, and taken two-year-old Daniel in with her.

  Enough. That part of his life was over. Here and now he focused on Kaitlin, studied her cool, aloof expression, and felt curiosity as to her motivations surface. ‘I don’t get why you took such an enormous risk.’