Heiress on the Run (Harlequin Romance)

by Sophie Pembroke

  Her finger paused over another link. This one was harder to justify. This one, if she was honest, was just Faith being incurably nosy. As usual. It really wasn’t any of her business what Katarina Forrester got up to, or why she’d split up with Dominic.

  Of course, she pressed it anyway.

  And was instantly glad that she’d turned off the sound on the tablet. The video that sprang to life was really not one to be watching in public. Eyes wide, she paused it, then stared for a moment longer before closing the window down. That had to be Katarina, with that long blonde hair let loose from the chignon it had been contained by in every other photo. But the naked guy there with her? Definitely not Dominic.

  Well, she supposed that answered the question of why they’d broken up. And it kind of made her wonder exactly what she’d find if she Googled her own name. Possibly best not to know.

  Except...she was back in Britain, working the kind of job that might get her spotted at any minute. Wasn’t it better to know what was out there waiting for her if she was recognised?

  Before she could change her mind, Faith tapped out her real name in the search bar and waited to see what popped up, apprehension stirring in her chest.

  At the top of the page, a row of photos loaded. Two of her looking bleary-eyed in a too-short dress, blinking at the camera as she left some nightclub. The rest...all from that night. Or, rather, the morning after.

  God, was it really even her? She barely recognised the woman she was now in the girl on the screen. She’d thrown away the clothes she wore in the photos—the tight black jeans and the corset top, moulding her curves and pushing up her breasts. Her hair was shorter than it was now, just curling around her jawbone. The hotel name, high end and far more expensive than she’d have been able to afford on her own, was clearly visible in the back of the shots.

  And on her arm, Jared Hawkes, a little too pale and scowling, but otherwise giving no indication of the hellish night before. Or that he was about to go home and beg his wife for another chance.

  No, the photo looked exactly like what everyone had believed it was—a money-grabbing girl stealing a famous, and famously troubled, rock star away from his patient, wonderful wife and adoring kids.

  The guilt had faded over the years. She’d made a lot of mistakes when she was younger, sure, but who hadn’t? And this one, that one time, she really hadn’t done anything wrong, as much as the world’s media had tried to convince her—and everyone else—otherwise. It had taken her a while to accept that and forgive herself, after she dropped out of the public eye. But she was done with guilt. All she had left now was the resentment, and the pain of the injustice.

  Faith clicked the browser closed. She didn’t need to see any more.

  She took a large gulp of coffee and tried to clear her head. Time to get back to the matter at hand—finding somewhere to take the Americans that evening.

  She took her time perusing the usual websites, and also reading the best London blogs, to get some more unusual ideas. She’d forgotten how much there was to do and see in London, how much she loved being there. Sure, Rome was romantic as hell and had plenty to offer, but London...it was more of a patchwork. More bits and pieces and scraps from all across history, and across humanity. She liked that in a city.

  By the time the hotel lobby doors opened to reveal chattering Americans, she’d worked up a decent plan for the week and got some provisional bookings in place. The name ‘Lord Beresford’ had opened plenty of doors she suspected might have stayed closed to Faith Fowler, Event Planner and Tour Guide, and while she’d vowed not to use her own title for the purpose of getting ahead, she had no qualms about using Dominic’s.

  Pushing aside her empty coffee cup—the third of the afternoon—she packed up her notes and tablet and headed out to greet the Americans before they disappeared up to their rooms to change.

  ‘How did the meetings go?’ she asked Dominic as his clients got in the lift on the other side of the lobby.

  He shrugged. ‘As well as I could hope, I suppose.’

  Which sounded rather Eeyore-ish to her. Maybe he was depressed. After all, he’d just lost his fiancée to a muscly premiership footballer in a YouTube video. Hardly surprising if he felt a bit down about things. ‘Well, I’m sure they’ll all be on board with anything you propose after the evening I’ve got in store for them.’

  He raised his eyebrows at her, and his forehead crinkled up. ‘Really? Do I get to know the plan in advance?’

  ‘You kinda have to,’ Faith replied. ‘I need you to pay for it. They’re holding the reservation for another hour.’

  Dominic fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he pulled out a shiny silver card with the name ‘Beresford Estate Expense Account’ emblazoned on it, and handed it to her.

  Faith stared at the card, even as she noticed the slip of paper with it. ‘Memorise the PIN and destroy that paper,’ he said. Then, when she just kept looking at it, he added, ‘Go on. Don’t you have a reservation to confirm?’

  Faith swallowed. ‘Don’t you want to know what I’ve got planned for the evening?’

  Dominic’s smile was wicked. ‘I trust you. Surprise me.’

  * * *

  Later that evening, as Dominic stared at the limited wardrobe he’d brought to the hotel, he regretted not asking Faith to share the plan for the evening. At least then he’d know if he needed the dinner jacket or if an ordinary suit would suffice. Or if whatever she had arranged would be more comfortable in jeans... Surely she’d have mentioned if they needed any sort of special outfits, though. Right?

  Why hadn’t he let her tell him?

  Sighing, Dominic dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, tie in hand. The reason, if he was honest with himself, was simply that she’d looked so excited about her plans. Standing there in her bright red blouse, with her hair tied back, she’d bobbed excitedly up and down on her toes. And just the idea that she was trying so hard to get this right, to do a good job...he wanted her to have a moment of glory when she pulled it off.

  If she pulled it off.

  He should have checked. He should be approving all the plans for the week. He would with any other new supplier or contractor. So why was it different with Faith?

  Because Faith was different, he answered himself. Faith was so many worlds away from Kat and the way she worked. Faith, for whatever reason, needed this job, and needed to do it well. And he was going to trust her and let her get on with it.

  Even if she could be using his credit card for anything right now. She could be on her way to the airport and back to Italy. Or anywhere.

  No. Faith wanted this job; that much he was sure of. Still, they’d only talked vaguely about budgets on the plane, and Faith didn’t seem the sort to be constrained by vague limits when the perfect opportunity for fun showed up. Although she’d been pretty canny with his money when she went clothes shopping.

  He should have more faith.

  Groaning at the unintentional mental pun, Dominic lay back on the bed and wished it was eight o’clock and time to meet in the lobby already.

  In the end, he was twenty minutes early, dressed in a suit and clean shirt, no tie—although he had one in his pocket in case of emergency. Compromise, he’d decided, was the name of the game. Something the Americans could stand to learn at the negotiating table, actually.

  He was early, but Faith was earlier, already standing in the lobby, dressed in a black dress that skimmed her knees, and with a red cardigan over it that hid the neckline. Respectable, but not too formal. Maybe he could ditch the tie at reception...

  ‘You’re early,’ she said, smiling at him as he approached. ‘Too impatient to wait any longer?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Dominic admitted. Up close, he could see the red lipstick that made her mouth even wider and more tempting than
normal. And he was studiously ignoring the way her black heels made her legs look endless.

  Rifling through her oversized handbag, Faith said, ‘I’ve got receipts and confirmations here—printed them out at the business centre. Do you want them as we go along, or shall I put them together in a full report at the end of the week?’

  Dominic let his shoulders relax. ‘It can wait. Just give me the full accounting when we’re done. Including your hours and salary.’

  Her eyes widened again as she looked at him. ‘Okay. Will do.’

  What was it that made it so hard for her to let people trust her? he wondered. Was it just that the scope of this job was a little outside her normal remit? Or was it something more?

  Maybe he’d ask her, one day. If he got the chance.

  ‘So, is it time for me to know where we’re going yet?’

  Faith gave him a mysterious smile. ‘Soon,’ she promised.

  The Americans obviously hadn’t been given any hints, either. They arrived in the lobby in dribs and drabs, dressed in the same cautious smart/casual attire Dominic had opted for. As soon as they were all assembled, Faith clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention and said, ‘Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Time for your first, proper London experience of the trip.’

  Leading them out of the lobby, she kept talking. ‘I know you’ve all been to London before, and I know that you’ve probably experienced a lot of the standard tourist attractions. But there are some things that are so quintessentially London, it would be wrong to miss them out this week. I promise there’ll be some more unusual outings in your future but, just for tonight, I went for the classics.’

  She certainly had. Dominic blinked at the sight of an old-fashioned Routemaster double-decker bus parked outside the Greyfriars Hotel. It looked utterly incongruous, like a penguin in the desert. Glancing over at Faith, he saw she was biting her lip, nervously awaiting his reaction. The Americans were already jostling to get on board, chattering and joking excitedly. But she was waiting to see what he thought. His opinion mattered to her. He liked that.

  ‘Can’t wait to see where it’s taking us,’ he said, and offered her his arm.

  Grinning, she took it, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, and he realised that it must be the first time they’d touched. Because if he’d felt that electric shock at contact before, he’d have remembered. The touch, the scent, the closeness of her filled his senses, and he had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other to reach the bus and help her up the steps.

  Note to self, he thought as he followed her. Do not touch Faith Fowler again. That way lies madness.

  * * *

  Faith held her breath as she stepped onto the bus, praying it was everything Julian had promised. She’d called in favours from every person she knew in the tourist trade in London to find the best options for the week ahead, and sent up thankful prayers when Julian told her that his latest venture, Big Red Tours, had a last-minute cancellation for that night. The photos and testimonials had been great, but you never knew for sure until you were there...

  With the last step, she looked around and let out a relieved sigh. It was perfect.

  Ben and Jerry were already seated at the table at the back, and a waiter in black tie dress was offering them a drink. The original bus seats had been torn out, replaced by wooden tables for two and four, bolted to the ground, as were the mismatched chairs around them. Red, white and blue cotton bunting hung from the ceiling, and the adverts were all replaced by vintage wartime posters.

  Terri and Marie ventured upstairs and Faith followed, wondering at the sight of more bunting and an honest-to-God rooftop garden, with more seating areas dotted about.

  ‘This is incredible, Faith!’ Marie said, beaming as she took a glass of champagne from the upstairs waiter. ‘Where on earth did you find such a thing?’

  Faith smiled. ‘Trade secret.’

  She waited until everyone had explored the bus and chosen a seat before instructing the driver to start the tour. Period music, the sort that would have played on the American bases during the war, sang out from the speakers as they drove along the river, through the heart of London. The waiters served canapés and topped up champagne flutes as they went, the lights of the city sparkling outside the windows.

  And all Faith could focus on was the fact that Dominic was sitting opposite her, smiling.

  ‘Do I want to know how much this is costing me?’ he asked, holding out his glass for a refill.

  Faith shrugged. ‘They had a last-minute cancellation, so I got a good deal.’

  ‘I had no idea you could do this sort of thing. I mean, in general, not you personally.’

  Quite honestly, Faith hadn’t been sure of either. But, since everything seemed to be going okay, she decided not to mention it.

  ‘The guy who started up the business—Julian—used to work with me last time I was doing tours in London. I thought it might be a fun start to the trip.’

  ‘It is,’ Dominic said, and he sounded as if he meant it. Faith felt something inside her start to relax and she reached for a glass of champagne.

  ‘I just hope the next part of the evening is as big a success.’

  ‘What is next?’ Dominic asked.

  Faith smiled. ‘Dinner.’

  * * *

  Dinner, it turned out, was a bit of an understatement. Dominic hadn’t known you could have canapés and champagne and roof gardens on buses, but he also hadn’t realised you could actually eat dinner on Tower Bridge. Or, rather, inside it.

  ‘Has this always been here?’ he asked, staring out over the River Thames.

  ‘They opened it for catering years ago,’ Faith told him. ‘We got lucky with a spare table tonight.’

  They’d been getting lucky a lot, it seemed to Dominic. ‘Another last-minute cancellation?’

  Faith squirmed a little. ‘Not exactly.’

  Dominic raised an eyebrow. ‘Let me guess; you used my name?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ Faith asked. ‘To get a table at a restaurant, or a better seat on a flight, or tickets to some play?’

  He wouldn’t, but he couldn’t deny that Shelley sometimes did. It just made him feel a little uncomfortable. ‘I suppose. So, what happens to the poor saps we kicked out of this place tonight?’

  Faith shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t do that. I just...persuaded them to rearrange things a little. That’s all.’

  ‘Can you talk anyone into anything?’ he asked. After all, she’d done all this over the phone in the course of an afternoon. He couldn’t even blame the mind-boggling effects of touching her, or even just looking at her, for the world falling at her feet. Or was that just him? Was everyone else immune, and it was just Dominic Beresford who found himself handing over jobs, money, credit cards and trust to this woman without a second thought?

  Faith gave him a rueful smile. ‘I wish I could. Do you know how many places I had to call, how many people I had to talk to, and how much research I put in to pulling all this together? A lot of places just said no upfront. Some I’m still in negotiations with to fit us in later in the week. I lucked out tonight, but I’ve still got a lot of hard work to put in to pull off the rest of the trip.’

  She stopped, as if she hadn’t meant to say so much.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest you hadn’t been working hard.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ Faith’s gaze darted away, out of the window. ‘I mean, it’s supposed to look effortless, isn’t it? That old swan metaphor. Swimming smoothly along, paddling like mad underneath.’

  Ridiculously, all he could think of at her words was Faith in a bikini. He cleared his throat, buying time for the image to dissipate. ‘Well, it all seems like, uh, very smooth swimming so far.’

  She gave him a curious look. ‘
Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’ She glanced over his shoulder. ‘Looks like our table’s ready. I’d better gather the others from the bar.’

  She strode off towards the Americans, who were all ordering cocktails. Apparently the champagne had put them in an excellent mood. If only he could get them to sign the contracts now...except that would be unethical. And his lawyers would kill him.

  Sighing, Dominic headed for the large round table directly overlooking the river. Usually this sort of an evening was nothing but a chore, time away from the office he could ill afford. But Faith had managed to make it fun, different.

  He couldn’t wait to see what she had planned for the rest of the week.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS NEARLY midnight by the time the group climbed onto the Routemaster bus again and headed back to the hotel. And as they pulled up outside the Greyfriars, Faith silently thanked Dominic for quashing Henry’s suggestion that they carry on to a club after dinner. She needed sleep and, before that, she needed to check her emails and reply to any confirming spaces for events over the next few days. And, as Dominic had pointed out, the Americans had a lot of meetings to fit in before their trip to the Beresford country estate later in the week. He needed them alert in the morning.

  Fortunately, everyone except Henry had agreed. And when she’d promised to take him dancing another night—something else to add to her never-ending list of requests—even he’d been mostly appeased.

  As the others headed for the lifts, waving tiredly behind them, Faith hung back with Dominic.

  ‘Bed?’ he asked, and for one moment, before she remembered that this was Dominic Beresford, more automaton than man, she thought he meant together and her eyes widened.