Heiress on the Run (Harlequin Romance)

by Sophie Pembroke

  ‘Corporate torture,’ he promised. ‘Entirely legal.’

  ‘Well, that’s okay then. Wouldn’t want my boss getting into trouble.’

  Her boss. Of course that was all he was to her. And he wouldn’t even be that much longer. Once the Americans were on the plane home, she’d be gone. Onto the next job, the next adventure. He couldn’t even plan on calling her back next time he had guests in town; God only knew where she’d be by then.

  Unless...

  ‘I meant to talk to you about that, actually.’ Or he would have, if he’d thought of it before now.

  Faith’s eyebrows drew together. ‘About what?’

  Dominic took a deep breath, and made his play. ‘About whether you’d like to make the boss thing a more permanent arrangement.’

  * * *

  Faith stared at him long enough that he started to go out of focus, then snapped her gaze away. Of course he was so impressed by her professional abilities that he wanted to keep her around. Nothing to do with her more personal attributes. She had to remember that.

  But still...he did want to keep her around. Just the idea gave her a warm glow greater than anything she’d got from the alcohol in her glass.

  Except, she couldn’t stay. The realisation made her wince into her whisky as she looked down so she didn’t have to see his face as she answered.

  ‘That’s...very kind...’ She scouted around her poor scrambled brain to find the right words, but Dominic was already talking again before she got to them.

  ‘It makes sense, right? I mean, I need a new tour company, one way or another, and I got to thinking that it would be easier if I just had someone on staff to take care of these things. Obviously we’d need to come to a more formal arrangement—you’d need an office in my building, and we’d have to discuss salary, relocation expenses and all of that.’

  She wanted to say yes. It was a fantastic offer, something that would really let her build up her life as Faith Fowler. But how could she do it in the shadow of her family name? How could she risk living in London again, knowing that any moment they could find her and thrust her back into the limelight?

  Dominic gave her an encouraging smile and she tried to return it.

  Would it really be so bad, even if they did find her? She was a grown woman. They couldn’t make her go home. And with a stable job with Dominic, she’d never be reliant on them for money, or anything else again. This could be her chance at true independence.

  Until Dominic found out the truth. No way he’d hang onto an employee who brought the paparazzi down on him for harbouring a missing heiress. And once they’d found her, all the stories would start up again, and the pictures of her leaving that damn hotel room would be back in circulation, and the rumours about her relationship with a married drug addict rock star...no. Dominic wouldn’t stand for any of that. Even if she could make him believe that the papers had it all wrong.

  No. She couldn’t stay. There was no place for her in Dominic’s world any more, if there ever really had been. Getting close to Dominic...it was a mistake. One she was very afraid she might have already made. But there had to be a line, a point she couldn’t cross. She couldn’t fall in love. And so she couldn’t risk staying.

  Besides, she told herself, she didn’t want to stay in London anyway. She wanted to see more of the world, more than just Italy.

  Even if she’d rather see more of Dominic.

  ‘You’re going to say no, aren’t you?’

  Faith gave him an apologetic smile, and he shook his head.

  ‘Is this because of the Lord thing?’

  She blinked. ‘The Lord thing?’

  Shifting to face her, Dominic’s expression was serious. ‘Yeah. I saw the way you were at Beresford Hall today. You hated every minute of it. So, what’s the problem? You hate the aristocracy?’

  I was the aristocracy. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So, what, then? Trust me, whatever it is, I’ve heard it before. That I’m an over-privileged, spoilt brat who only got where I am because of my family. That I’m stealing from the mouths of others by having so much. That—’

  ‘Dominic.’ Faith spoke as calmly as she could, placing her hand against his arm again. ‘I didn’t say any of those things.’

  He sighed. ‘But you did hate being there today.’

  No point lying about that one. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So, why?’

  Faith drew in a deep breath while she considered her answer. Obviously she couldn’t tell him the truth—that it reminded her too much of her own home. But he clearly wasn’t going to be fobbed off with a blatant lie, either. Besides, even if she couldn’t stay, she wanted him to think well of her when she was gone.

  ‘I guess I...I don’t know how to explain it, really. It made me feel uncomfortable. All that history and opulence.’

  Dominic frowned. ‘Uncomfortable? Why? I mean, I’ve had people be angry about the privilege, had people be jealous or bitter. But why uncomfortable?’

  ‘Does it really matter?’

  ‘It does to me.’

  He was very close now, closer than even Jerry had been before she maimed him. When had she shifted so close? When had the hand on his arm become a gentle caress rather than a calming gesture? When had his thigh pressed so closely against her legs, his arm along the back of the sofa just behind her?

  She didn’t ask why it mattered to him; it was enough that it did. And she wanted him to know the truth, to have one moment of honesty from her before she left, taking all her lies and secrets with her.

  ‘It made me feel trapped. Like all that history, tradition, expectation were weighing down on me, instead of you. Like there was no room for you to be yourself or explore what you wanted. Because the family name, upholding what that means, would always make you follow a certain course. That’s why it made me uncomfortable.’

  * * *

  Dominic stared at her, realising too late that he was close enough now to see every fleck of green and brown in her hazel eyes. He could kiss her without moving more than a few centimetres.

  But he wouldn’t. Because of Jerry, because she was leaving, and because the very basis of his life made her ‘uncomfortable’.

  ‘That’s not how it is.’ Sitting back, he slid his arm back along the sofa, tucking his elbow in at his side, keeping his hands far away from her tempting skin. ‘What I’ve done at Beresford Hall...that’s all me. When my father died, he left things in a less than ideal condition.’ Had she ever heard the story? he wondered. Everyone he met in society knew; he could see it in their eyes when he was introduced. After all, it was such a good story—the Lady of the Manor who went wild, running off to the Med with a billionaire tycoon, leaving behind two children and a distraught husband. A husband who barely got over the loss enough to look after the children, let alone the estate. Who could blame people for telling it over and over again?

  Of course, they didn’t see beyond the pictures in the society pages. His mother, living it up on some yacht, flaunting her adultery, her betrayal. And his mother never had to see what it did to the family she left behind. How Sylvia cried and screamed and then went silent for two long months. How the husband she left behind faded to a shadow of a man.

  Or how Dominic dealt, every day, with the photographers and the journalists, at the door and on the phone. And with the constant humiliation of every single person in his life knowing how little he meant to his own mother.

  It came up less in the business world, at least—one reason he preferred to keep his focus on building up the business and the brand, rather than attending the compulsory charity galas and events that he’d inherited with the title. But did ordinary people really care? Did Faith?

  She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Less than ideal? What does that mean?’

  Did it matter any more
? The shame he burned with at the memories? Had he done enough, finally, to set it all behind him? Would he ever?

  Faith was still waiting for an answer, though. He swallowed down the last gulp of his whisky, enjoying the slight burn in his throat. ‘After my mother left...my father checked out of life,’ he said bluntly. ‘He didn’t care about anything any more. Not even the scandal my mother left behind. The estate suffered.’ He shrugged. ‘When he died, he left us with nothing but our name.’

  ‘And you fought back from that.’ Faith’s eyes were wide as she watched him. ‘You built up the estate, the business...’

  ‘I saved the family name,’ he corrected her. ‘The rest was incidental.’

  ‘It meant that much to you. The name, I mean.’

  ‘Yes.’ He glanced away. ‘It was all I had left, after all.’

  She was silent for a long moment, but when he looked back her gaze was still fixed on him. Her teeth bit down on her lip, a flash of white in the dim lamplight of the darkening hotel room, and he wondered what it was she wanted to say. And whether she’d decide to say it.

  ‘My father,’ she said finally. ‘He was—is—the world’s most charming man. But...he gambled. Still does, I imagine. He...lost. A lot. Even if he’d never admit it. Life had to go on as if everything was normal, like we were as good as—better than—everyone else. Even if we couldn’t afford to buy my school uniform. That’s one of the reasons I moved away. I didn’t want to watch him destroy himself, or our family.’

  The words caught him in the chest, and it took him a moment to identify why. That was, he realised, the first real thing she’d ever told him about herself. He knew about the tours she’d led, the people she’d met. He knew her opinion on subjects as varied as clothes and theatre and London traffic.

  And now he knew something of her. A small token, before she left him.

  It wasn’t enough.

  ‘Didn’t you ever want to just give up?’ Faith asked. ‘Just walk away from it all and start a new life?’

  Had he? He couldn’t remember. It had never seemed an option. From the moment he’d inherited the title, he knew exactly what he needed to do and he just got on with it. Besides... ‘How could I? Sylvia was only ten, and we had nothing...I couldn’t leave.’

  Faith’s smile was sad. ‘No. No, of course you couldn’t.’

  Tipping the last drops of whisky down her throat, she placed her glass on the coffee table. Dominic stared at her lips and the way her tongue darted out to catch the last drop of liquid from them. He wanted to kiss her. And he knew, just knew, from the way she leant into him, close enough to touch, that she wouldn’t pull away. She wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t pull any of her self-defence moves on him. She’d let him kiss her, and then what? He’d take her to bed, just to let her leave him in a few days’ time? She wasn’t going to stay. And he was already in too deep. He couldn’t risk falling any further. Not after Kat.

  ‘You never did tell me the real reason you left Italy,’ he said. Maybe now she knew some of his secrets, his truths, she’d be willing to share some of her own. Let him in enough that he could stop worrying about her lies.

  Faith pulled back, wrapping her arms around her knees. Suddenly, even though she still sat on the same sofa, she felt miles further away. How bad was her truth that she couldn’t let it near him?

  ‘That day we met, at the airport,’ she said, her voice slow.

  ‘I remember,’ he said drily. As if he would ever forget.

  ‘I’d just found out that the company I worked for had gone bankrupt. I got everyone in my tour group sorted out with flights and hotels but I...I was stranded. Until you offered me this job.’

  ‘Until you demanded it, you mean.’ She was telling the truth, he was sure. But he was equally certain that there was more, something she was still hiding.

  ‘Hey, I’m doing a good job, aren’t I?’

  ‘You’re doing an incredible job,’ he said, and she looked up, wide eyes surprised. ‘I just wish you’d stop lying to me and let me see the real you.’ He got to his feet, ignoring her alarmed stare. ‘You should get some sleep. Goodnight, Faith.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘HOW ABOUT THIS one?’ Sylvia asked, and Faith glanced up from the racks of overpriced, over-decorated dresses to shake her head at Dominic’s sister for the tenth time that morning. And they were only on the second shop. Faith sighed. Dominic hadn’t been kidding when he’d said this would be exhausting.

  Sylvia hung the dress back on the rail with a clatter of metal on metal. ‘You know, this would be a lot easier if you could tell me what you’re looking for.’

  Faith flicked past another few dresses. ‘I told you, I’m not sure. I’ll know it when I see it.’

  ‘Utterly unhelpful.’ Flinging herself into a cream leather armchair outside the fitting rooms, Sylvia pulled out a small pink suede notepad and a sparkly pen. ‘Come on. Let’s figure this out. First question: cocktail or ballgown?’

  ‘Cocktail, definitely. No one wears floor-length to the theatre any more, do they?’

  Sylvia shrugged her slim shoulders and made a note on the pad. ‘Not anyone your age, anyway. Okay, black or colour?’

  ‘Colour,’ Faith replied. ‘I’m sick to death of black after a week in that one dress.’

  ‘Plain or decorated?’

  ‘Plain. It’ll go with more accessories that way.’ If she was getting to buy a dress on Dominic’s card, it might as well be something she could wear again and again.

  She turned her attention back to the rack and was only half paying attention when Sylvia spoke again.

  ‘Okay, most important question, then—how do you want my brother to look when he sees you in it?’

  ‘Awed,’ she said without thinking, then smacked a hand over her mouth. ‘I didn’t say that,’ she muttered through her fingers.

  Sylvia gave a gleeful grin. ‘Oh, you did. You most certainly did.’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t have.’ Faith studied the dresses again with unwarranted attention, since they were all exactly what she didn’t want, but did at least distract from the way her cheeks were burning. ‘He’s my boss.’

  ‘Only for a few more days,’ Sylvia pointed out.

  ‘At which point I’ll be leaving. Hardly a winning argument.’

  ‘You could stay,’ Sylvia suggested. ‘Maybe Dominic could offer you a permanent job.’

  ‘At which point he’d be my boss again.’ Faith shook her head. ‘Besides, he already did. I think he’s much more interested in keeping me as an employee than anything else.’

  ‘Given the way he was staring at you yesterday, I’d take that as a compliment,’ Sylvia said, her tone dry. ‘You must be incredibly good at your job.’

  ‘I am.’ Faith pushed the dresses back along the rail. ‘Which is why we’re going to try the next shop in the hope of finding a perfectly work appropriate dress for tonight, so I can go out and do what I’m being paid for. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Sylvia asked, holding the shop door open for her. ‘Because I have to tell you, Dominic never looked at Kat that way.’

  Something froze inside her, and Faith was awfully afraid it might be her heart. Like it had been shocked into stillness by the idea that Dominic wanted her more than she’d ever dared to imagine.

  He’d almost kissed her the night before; she’d seen it in his face. She still wasn’t sure what had stopped him, although she could list a dozen perfectly reasonable options off the top of her head. Probably it was Jerry, she’d decided. Dominic would never try anything so soon after she’d had to fend off the attentions of another man. It wouldn’t be Proper.

  And Dominic was all about Proper.

  Which was exactly why she couldn’t let herself have him. She had given up any chance of a place in Dominic’s world w
hen she ran away, and that was a decision she had to stick by.

  Besides, if they started something, anything real, the truth would come out. It always did. And she couldn’t bear the thought of the disgust and disappointment on Dominic’s face when he found out.

  She ignored the small part of her brain that said she only had a few more days. Maybe she could have that, at least. Surely she could keep her secret that long...

  It all came down to one simple fact. If Dominic knew who she really was, what she’d done, he wouldn’t want her. And on the infinitesimally small off chance he did, if she wanted a real chance with Dominic, she’d never get to be Faith Fowler again.

  Lose-lose.

  Kind of like the shopping expedition so far.

  She sighed as Sylvia dragged her into the next boutique, another tiny, expensive shop filled with incredible dresses Faith’s mother would have loved.

  ‘Do you really think we’re going to find anything in here?’ she asked.

  ‘We won’t know until we look,’ Sylvia replied, already scouring through the individual dress hangers on the walls to find the perfect outfit.

  Faith was pretty sure that not one of the dresses Sylvia was looking at would fit over her not exactly model-shaped frame. The women these dresses were intended for didn’t have curves. She couldn’t even swear they had hips, looking at the narrow cuts.

  Still, Sylvia seemed happy browsing through the fabrics, so Faith let her attention wander, imagining what the evening ahead might be like if she did let herself be talked into some glamorous, fabulous dress that showcased all her best assets.

  Would Dominic notice? Would he look her over in that way of his and take in her figure, rather than her inappropriate clothes? Would he sit beside her in the theatre, transfixed by the plunging neckline of her dress?

  Probably not.

  The bell over the shop door chimed and Faith looked up absently, then froze. Lady Ginny Gale. Her mother’s best friend.