Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate

by Nina Milne

  Because it was all she had. And if that made her look shallow so be it.

  Twirling a forkful of linguine, she glanced down at her notebook. ‘Next question—which hotel are we staying in?’

  ‘We’re not. One of the directors of the Caversham Foundation owns a cottage in Inverness—it happens to be empty now, so we’ll stay there. It saves on costs and in actual fact will give us more privacy than a hotel.’

  Just freaking fabulous. As if she wasn’t sufficiently all over the place.

  ‘That’s a problem.’ She’d been idiot enough to utter the words aloud. Clearly a breakdown was underway, because Lady Kaitlin did not blurt out foolish statements. ‘I mean...from the perspective of the press, the less privacy the better. The whole point of this exercise is to scotch any hint of a rumour.’

  ‘Exactly. In which case staying in a property offered to us for free makes sense. Declining it to stay in a hotel would look as if we did have something to hide. It’s all arranged—to change it now would arouse way more suspicion.’

  Kaitlin picked up her wine glass and took a healthy slug—this whole scenario got worse and worse as each course progressed.

  ‘OK. Fine. But, for the record, I believe it is a mistake.’

  ‘Noted. Next question...’

  And the next and the next...

  By the end of dinner her hand threatened to cramp but hopefully she had enough information to stave off panic.

  ‘Thank you for this. It has really helped.’

  She scraped up the last bit of tiramisu from her bowl, savoured the gossamer lightness of the lady’s fingers kissed with the tang of espresso.

  ‘You’re welcome. I’ll walk you home and then pick you up tomorrow to take you to the airport.’

  * * *

  Fifteen hours later Daniel observed Kaitlin’s study of the private jet. ‘I didn’t realise we would be travelling by private jet.’

  ‘A company perk. I can’t tell if you disapprove or if you are relieved.’

  ‘A bit of both. It does seem morally wrong that we’ll be taking these teenagers into the wilds and yet we’re imposing this massive carbon footprint on the environment. On the other hand we will avoid the crowds and the publicity, and today that suits me.’

  Presumably because she was tired, Daniel thought. Despite her trademark elegance, showcased in a patterned dress that combined turquoise and red and was worn, he suspected, to divert attention from the smudges under her eyes—eyes that had dulled to a flat, almost lacklustre green.

  Yet he sensed that if they had been on a chartered flight she would have sparkled, chatting with ease to anyone who recognised her, flight attendants and squalling children alike.

  ‘The way I see it is that this brings us privacy and convenience. I like it.’

  ‘So is this how you always travel?’

  ‘A fair amount. I travel a lot, and it’s useful to be able to utilise the time to work. It’s what a lot of corporate clients expect as well—and, as someone once told me, image is everything.’

  This pulled a smile from her. ‘If the image you’re trying to project is one of success, you’ve nailed it. My bet is that you have a sports car in your garage and the clothes you are wearing set you back a hefty sum. Though you’ve gone for discreet quality over brash designer label.’

  ‘Was the car a guess or research?’ He nodded at the ubiquitous notebook that rested on the table in front of her, close to hand, almost like a talisman.

  ‘It was a guess. Though there is some more research I’d like to do.’

  His eyebrows rose of their own volition as he eyed the notebook with more than a hint of fascination ‘There can’t possibly be any more questions to ask.’

  ‘There is always more information to collect. I assume you research before you go to court? This is the same idea. It’s my job. If you want this project to get good publicity then I have to work out the best way to do that—my strategy, how I will project Lady Kaitlin to maximise benefit. So it’s important I wear the right outfit, say the right thing at the right time.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Yet a good few of the questions the previous night had been about their destination, the exact location of the kayaking school, the website for the cottage in Inverness and the hotel in Venice... Surely irrelevant for publicity purposes. ‘So what else do you want to know?’

  ‘How to handle the kids.’ Her gaze met his, fair and square. ‘I want to figure out how to relate to the teenagers—find a frame of reference.’ Her slender fingers tapped the notebook. ‘I come from a wealthy, privileged background, so these teenagers may well resent me. I’m looking for a way round that. If you come from a similar background you may have some ideas how to combat that.’

  Discomfort scratched his skin at the knowledge that his privileged upbringing, the wealth that had cushioned his childhood, the expensive education, had all come from the proceeds of crime. True, he’d funded his own way through law school, through sheer hard graft, but that didn’t cancel out the sting of guilt.

  Kaitlin huffed out a sigh. ‘Actually, scrub that. However you started out, you’ve clearly worked damned hard to get where you are. The kids will respect that. But they will see that I was born to wealth and position and have done nothing to earn it. I’m worried my presence may goad them, make them feel patronised, especially because I’m not sure what I can offer them.’

  Despite her matter-of-fact tone, he could sense the tremor of vulnerability and it touched him. ‘You earn a living. You have a job. Tell me about it.’

  ‘I work in an art gallery. I liaise with customers and artists. I help decide who we represent. I organise promotional events and I am the “face” of the gallery.’

  ‘So you have a knowledge of art, an ability to sell and to interact with people—not to mention organisational skills. There is plenty there to earn respect. You can discuss art and painting. Hell, you may spark an interest that means some teenager goes on to become the next Picasso.’

  For a second her green eyes were luminous with wist. ‘Perhaps. But it’s a job that was given to me because the owner knows my mother and likes the kudos of having a “Lady” working for her.’

  ‘Is it a job you wanted?’

  ‘It was a job that was presented to me and that fits in with my duties to Derwent Manor, and I’m good at it.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

  Daniel frowned. With Kaitlin’s intelligence, connections, looks and personality she could surely have pursued any career she wanted?

  ‘I didn’t know what I wanted to do, so this seemed as suitable as anything else. Did you always know you wanted to be a lawyer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Perhaps because once he’d understood what had happened to his father he’d been able to see the burning injustice of it all.

  Giovanni Romano’s family had disowned him for marrying Daniel’s mother. Part of that rejection had entailed sacking him from his job in the family business. The young Daniel had wondered what would have happened if his parents had consulted a lawyer, found grounds for unfair dismissal. Then there had been his father’s subsequent contract to drive a lorry. The young Daniel had been sure there must be some flaw in it—perhaps too many hours, some kind of exploitation, something that the law would have found. That way his father’s death when he’d crashed the lorry through sheer exhaustion would have been prevented.

  Daniel wiped a hand down his face, swiped the memory away. History could not be rewritten, and in the here and now it was Kaitlin who intrigued him. ‘I did. But don’t change the subject. We were talking about you. You must have had some idea of what you wanted to do.’

  ‘Nope. I didn’t. I did well at school, but nothing inspired me.’ Her green eyes widened, as if she was looking back to a past that held less than stellar memories. She s
hrugged. ‘I guess I have no ambition.’

  ‘Except to marry well?’

  ‘That’s my parents’ ambition—not mine,’ she flashed back, and then pressed her lips together in clear self-irritation. ‘The point is that I do not have any burning career drive.’

  ‘You must have had a childhood dream. Everyone does.’

  ‘Of course.’ Her hand waved in a dismissive gesture. ‘As a child I believed I could do anything. Thought I could pick between doctor, singer, dancer, scientist...you name it, I’d imagined it.’

  Daniel’s frown deepened. It didn’t make sense that she’d gone from being a motivated, ambitious kid to someone who had drifted into a job that clearly did not set her world on fire.

  ‘Then look around. You’re twenty-seven years old—the world is your oyster. You can still be a dancer, a singer, a doctor or a scientist. That’s the message we want to give those teenagers—that no matter what your background you need to strive to be what you want to be. It doesn’t matter if it’s a lawyer or a shop assistant—it needs to give you satisfaction.’

  Kaitlin’s expression shuttered and she glanced away, out of the window, just as the pilot announced their descent. ‘I’ll do my best to get that message across.’

  * * *

  The other message she had best get across to herself was to stop talking—cease conversation with Daniel. Perhaps it was the lawyer in him, but the man had an uncanny knack of extracting information from her she had no wish to share. Somehow her lips opened and out came the words; she pitied any witness who came up against him.

  Which was exactly why she had feigned sleep for the entire car journey from the airport to their destination. A location she had spent a considerable time researching—enough so that she knew she’d need to filter out the background noise of the Caledonian Canal that ran along the edge of the spacious garden that graced the property.

  Instead, as she alighted from the car with a theatrical stretch that Daniel surveyed with a scepticism that suggested he had seen straight through the fake nap, she focused on the cottage itself.

  Lush vegetation nestled around white walls that gleamed bright through the mizzle of rain that hazed the air and contrasted with the dark orange of the roof, whilst large glass windows indicated that the inside would prove spacious and light.

  ‘It’s even prettier than the photographs on the website.’

  Pictures Kaitlin had studied until her eyeballs ached in the knowledge that the more prepared she was the more likely it was she could stave off panic. It was a strategy that worked—as they entered she felt in control, with not so much as a twinge of nerves daring to show.

  ‘I asked for food to be left for us, so there won’t be a need to go out unless you want to,’ Daniel said as they entered the well-equipped kitchen.

  ‘Nope. Sounds great. I’m happy to stay in.’

  At least in theory. In reality the idea of staying in with Daniel made her feel...jittery, and awareness slid over her skin.

  Both stood frozen to the linoleum floor, eyes locked, until Daniel spun on his heel in an abrupt movement and headed to the fridge, yanked it open with a jerk.

  ‘Yup, plenty of provisions. I could make us a three-cheese omelette with ham, or spaghetti carbonara? Your choice. Unless you want to cook?’

  ‘Cooking isn’t one of my talents—so an omelette sounds great, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘No problem. It’ll be ready in half an hour.’

  ‘Great.’ Which was apparently her new word for the evening.

  Goodness knew she needed that thirty minutes to think, to work out how to get through a cosy, domestic dinner without disgrace.

  A shower and a change of clothes undoubtedly helped. Ruffle edged shirt tucked into smart casual black trousers cinched at the waist with a simple buckled brown belt. The ensemble would hopefully ditch any semblance of ‘cosy’ and the near severity of her chignon, softened by the release of only a few stray tendrils of hair, conveyed business.

  One final deep breath and she entered the kitchen, from where a truly tantalising scent wafted, along with the strains of a classical music radio station.

  ‘That smells glorious.’

  ‘Thank you. Help yourself to wine.’

  ‘Great.’

  Really, Kaitlin? Get yourself a thesaurus.

  Opening the fridge, she located an open bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘You can set the table.’

  ‘No problem.’

  A surreal feeling hit her as she carefully arranged placemats and cutlery, carried the blue glass salad bowl heaped with spinach, its dark green leaves sprinkled with shavings of parmesan, to the square wooden table. She was trying to convince her brain that this was no different from a business dinner—it was only the setting that gave it this false sense of domesticity.

  Yet once she was seated her brain scrambled for any conversational topic, and for once in her life came up short. It seemed as if Daniel was suffering from a similar affliction, and she could only be thankful for the music, which was at least filling the void of silence.

  This was ridiculous—the entire concept of social awkwardness was an impossibility to Kaitlin. She had not spent years of her life perfecting her conversational skills to be beaten by this. Whatever this was.

  Pressing her lips together, she considered the options. Clearly she needed to re-arm herself, pull her Lady Kaitlin persona together and keep it together. Somehow Daniel Harrington had messed with her head—and that had to be because of this unwanted physical attraction, this stupid hum that she had never felt before and needed to eradicate or at the very least neutralise.

  ‘Penny for them?’

  Daniel’s deep voice broke her reverie and she glanced up. ‘They aren’t worth it. I’m sure your thoughts would be far more interesting.’

  That was better.

  ‘I’m not sure that is the adjective I’d use.’

  Uh-oh. There was an amused tone to his voice—a glint in his eye that sent a skitter of heat along her veins.

  ‘What adjective would you use?’

  ‘Inappropriate probably best covers it.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was no textbook answer to that.

  ‘Don’t worry—I am not about to act on my thoughts, but perhaps we need to clear the air? So that we can get on with what we are here to do—focus on the teenagers.’

  ‘OK. You first.’

  He pushed his empty plate away and picked up his wine. ‘I’m still attracted to you. A lot. But it doesn’t have to be a big deal.’

  ‘But it is a big deal to me.’ Kaitlin closed her eyes in silent despair; disbelief rippling through her at her blurted words even as her mind raced to think how to explain them. ‘Because...because it feels awkward.’

  ‘“Awkward” as in you feel embarrassed or uncomfortable? Or “awkward” as in the attraction still exists?’

  With a supreme effort she forced her brain into gear, shut down the idiotic thrill that surged through her bloodstream at the knowledge that he felt the same attraction. Big-time.

  Thrill or not, it made life too complicated. One-sided attraction was bad—mutual attraction was disastrous. So she’d opt for a strategy that had served her well. Good old denial.

  ‘For me, the attraction no longer exists—Barcelona was an aberration that makes me feel both embarrassed and uncomfortable.’

  The sheer scale of the lie was immense, but she kept her gaze on his, channelled every fibre of Lady Kaitlin and hoped her body language was on point.

  ‘I just want to get through this week and move on.’

  Daniel was silent. Then he lifted his shoulders in another shrug. ‘I acknowledge that I misread the situation and I apologise if I have caused you embarrassment.’


  ‘Thank you.’ Guilt touched her, along with a sense of profound regret. ‘I’ll help clear up and then I’ll head to my room.’

  * * *

  Kaitlin opened her eyes, stared up at the off-white Artex ceiling. Where was she? A feeling of panic invaded but she headed it off at the pass, studied the swirls and whorls of the plaster and allowed knowledge to seep in. Fort William. Scotland. She was safe.

  The belated beep of her alarm was a reminder that she had set up a kayaking lesson, in the hope that it would prevent any unseemly panic the following day.

  She swung her legs out of bed and picked her phone up from the pine chest of drawers that doubled as a bedside cabinet. Taxi called, bathroom utilised, she donned the outfit she’d set out the previous night on the square-backed cream armchair tucked in the room’s corner. Jeans, T-shirt, a plain white shirt and a dark blue lightweight knit jumper provided the layers recommended.

  Half an hour later she exited the house, relieved that there was no sight nor sound of Daniel, and twenty minutes after that she stood at the meeting point.

  Her head told her to feast her eyes on the scenery—the vibrant green foliage, the backdrop of dense rolling woodland—to breathe deeply of the scent of heather and gorse that sprinkled the air.

  But her gaze kept being pulled inexorably back to the water, and the sight of it caused her heart to make a spirited attempt to leap from her chest. Her lungs constricted and little black dots danced the tango on her retinas.

  Breathe.

  She could do this—she would do this. And after tomorrow she need never ever go anywhere near water again unless it was in the safety of a bathroom.

  ‘Kaitlin?’

  The deep voice from behind her lasered her body into immobility. It couldn’t be...

  Forcing her feet to uproot themselves, she spun round and blinked at Daniel. ‘Daniel? What are you doing here?’

  There was a frown on his face and his mouth was set to grim. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this lesson?’

  ‘As far as I know I don’t have to account for every minute of my day with you. Where’s Matt?’

  ‘I told him I’d take the lesson.’