“Everyone’s captive in one way or another.”

“Are you?” Had he moved closer? His male scent—expensive wool and subtle musk—tickled her senses.

“Absolutely.” His voice was a low growl that took her by surprise, but not as much as the way he stepped in, lifted her chin deftly with his fingers and pressed his lips softly to hers.

This man is a beast. He chews people up and spits them out. He just confessed as much!

His low moan in her ear made her desire surge.

Was there magic in this place? If so, it might be the dark and scary kind. She certainly didn’t feel fully in control of this situation—or even herself—at this moment.

And there was that family curse to contend with …

His kiss was alternately fierce and tender, drawing her in and taking her breath away. She’d never been kissed like this.

But he’s your enemy.

Dear Reader,

In this book, I was able to give free rein to my passion for castles by creating one for my characters. In the British Isles most castles have been destroyed in one conflict or another, and their ruins dominate the landscape around them with an air of romance and drama. A few medieval castles have resisted the attacks of successive marauders and stand as mighty as when they were built, including Edinburgh and Stirling castles in Scotland.

For this book I had fun imagining an even more ancient castle, with parts dating back to when the Romans attempted—unsuccessfully—to occupy Scotland. My imaginary castle is the seat of the ancient Drummond family, and their impressive legacy has become something of a burden to the man who inherits it. It takes a woman from far away to shake him out of his ordered existence and make him see his majestic home with fresh eyes. I hope you enjoy James and Fiona’s story.

Best wishes,

Jennifer Lewis

About the Author

JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. She would love to hear from readers at jen@jenlewis.com. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.

A Trap
So Tender
Jennifer Lewis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Mia

One

Her enemy was handsome. Slate-gray eyes, dark hair and aristocratic features—every inch the Scottish laird.

She shook his offered hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Fiona Lam.”

“James Drummond.”

I know. She smiled sweetly. His handshake was firm and his skin cool to the touch. Her own hand suddenly felt hot and she struggled not to pull it back. The glitzy cocktail party hosted by an international bank hummed around them, bright young things in expensive suits meeting and greeting each other, but somehow they all faded into the background. “I’m new to Singapore. Just moved here from San Diego.”

“Really?” One elegant eyebrow raised.

“I sold my first business and I’m looking around for new opportunities. Do you work here?”

“Sometimes.” He still held her hand. Cheeky devil. No wonder he had a reputation as a ladies’ man. “I have a place in Scotland.”

The grand estate she’d heard about. She didn’t care about that. She did want her hand back, though. It was getting hotter, and an unpleasant tingling sensation had started to trickle up her arm. She gave a firm tug and he released her fingers with the ghost of a smile.

She tried not to shake out her hand. “I’ve heard Scotland’s beautiful.”

“If you like mist and heather.” His steely gaze was totally unblinking. No wonder he intimidated his business rivals.

“You don’t?”

“I inherited them. Don’t really need to have an opinion. Can I get you a drink?”

“Champagne.” She sagged with relief as he turned to find a waiter. This guy was pretty intense. Which was fine. She didn’t have to like him.

She just needed him to like her.

He returned with two bubbling glasses and handed her one. No one had warned her he was so good-looking. It was more than a little disconcerting. In her experience venture capitalists were usually men in their sixties with hair growing out of their ears. She sipped, then tried not to sneeze as the bubbles tickled the back of her throat. She wasn’t a big fan of booze, but she wanted to look as if she fit into James Drummond’s rarefied world.

He raised his sculpted chin. “What brings you to Singapore?”

“I’m looking into a couple of business opportunities.”

Again, his brow lifted. “I’m in business myself. What do you do?”

“I just sold a company that makes decals. Smileworks.” The name usually made people smile. It made her smile and she was still sad to have sold it. But not sad about all the money she’d made on the deal.

“I read about the buyout. Congratulations. That was quite a coup.”

The sparkle of interest in his eyes had intensified. She felt a tiny rush of power—or was it pleasure? “Thanks. It was fun building Smileworks but I’d taken it as far as I could.”

“So what’s next for you?” He leaned forward, clearly intrigued.

She shrugged, annoyed to notice that her nipples had tightened beneath her black cocktail dress and hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Not sure yet. I’ll have to see what sparks my imagination.”

In his dark gray suit and dark gray tie, James Drummond was sparking her imagination in all kinds of undesirable directions. He was so buttoned down that the prospect of tearing off his crisp white shirt or running fevered fingers through his carefully combed hair seemed an intriguing challenge.

Was it wise to bed an enemy? Probably not, but a little flirtation couldn’t hurt. She needed to gain his trust, then figure out how to buy—or steal—her father’s factory back.

She managed another sip of the unfamiliar champagne. She had to stay focused. Her dad needed her and at last she could prove to him she cared. It wasn’t her fault she’d grown up nine thousand miles away, calling another man Daddy. She hadn’t planned the first two decades of her life but she was in charge of the rest and she intended to right some of the wrongs that had been committed against Walter Chen. Starting with the wrongs committed by one James Drummond.

They left the cocktail party together, and James’s driver took them to Rain, the hottest new restaurant, where even he had to pull strings to get a reservation.

“This place is stunning. I had no idea Singapore had so much nightlife.” She stared around at the minimalist decor with its cool green lighting. “Clearly, I need to get out more.”

“Got to keep the worker bees happy or we’d all fly off somewhere else.”

He sat opposite her, pleased by the surprise of having dinner with a beautiful woman who’d been in his life for only one hour. Fiona had his attention. Her company, Smileworks, had created an international splash with its funky graphics and new concepts for things to stick decals to—like walls. That she’d already sold it and banked more money than most people made in a lifetime was impressive.

And she was beautiful as well as smart, with dramatic dark eyes framed by slightly arched brows, and a full mouth that begged to be kissed. Her American accent had surprised him, and added to the layers of intrigue. She was exactly the kind of woman he could see himself marrying.

And he needed to marry.

The waiter gave them shiny black menus. He watched her eyelashes flick lower as she scanned hers. Then she looked up and transfixed him with those bright eyes. “What do you recommend?”

“I’ve heard it’s all good, but I can lend my personal recommendation to the sea urchin.”

Her eyes widened. “I had no idea those were edible.”

The waiter showed him a bottle of his favorite wine and he nodded. When the waiter had filled their glasses and left, he leaned in. “Last time I had the pigeon. That was good, too. All depends on whether you want to eat creatures of land, sea or air.”

She laughed. “How about a pond?”

“The duck is very tender.” He smiled and lifted his glass to her. “And I expect they could even make pond weed taste good if they wanted.”

“A little salt and pepper, sauté it with garlic?” Humor sparkled in her lovely eyes. Then she raised her glass and took a sip. “That’s some good wine.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “At four hundred dollars a bottle it should be. I like it.”

“You spend more time in Singapore than Scotland?” She unfurled her napkin as she asked.

“I do. Scotland’s not exactly an international business hub.” Funny how she hadn’t even asked him what he did yet. That was refreshing. Being new to Singapore, she obviously had no idea of his reputation, which was also a plus. It got tiresome explaining to people that you weren’t a vulture, or—lately—that vultures played an important role in the circle of life. “You can work from anywhere these days. I do most of my work over the internet.”

“I do, too, but nothing beats meeting people face-to-face.” Fiona’s face was lovely. Smooth skin with a radiant glow that contrasted with thick dark hair that swept to her shoulders. He wanted to run his fingers through that hair.

And if all went according to his current plan, he would.

“It’s funny that you have a Scottish first name, when there’s nothing Scottish about you.”

She lifted her slim brow with a slightly defiant air. “I do like plaid. I even bought a pair of plaid shoes the other day. What’s Scottish about you?”

“Good question. I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked it before. I’m probably the only person I’ve ever met who actually enjoys single malt whiskey.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re certainly the only one I’ve met. I tried it once and I won’t be doing that again.”

“I treat it with a healthy respect, myself, as it’s killed a lot of my forebears.”

“They were drinkers?”

“Drinkers, fighters, fast drivers, the type of men who go out looking for the end of a sword to run into.”

Curiosity sparkled in her eyes, and stirred the arousal gathering low inside him. “And you’re not like that?”

“I prefer to be holding the sword.”

He expected a laugh, or at least a smile, but she simply seemed to consider his words for a moment. “I suppose that is a better position to be in. Are you afraid of ending up like your ancestors?”

“Can’t say I am. Though I keep getting emails and letters from my American cousin who’s decided it’s her mission to save the Drummond family from an ancient curse by reuniting three parts of a lost chalice.”

Her eyes widened. “A curse? Do you think there’s anything to it?”

“I don’t believe in that kind of nonsense. Hard work and common sense are the cure for most so-called curses I’ve heard about.”

“You did say your ancestors kept wading into trouble.” She raised a slim brow. “Maybe there’s something to the legend. Where is the chalice supposed to be?”

“According to my cousin’s last rather breathless email, she’s already found two pieces. One was in the family home where she resides in New York—she’s a Drummond herself by marriage—and the other was found in the ocean off an island in Florida, where it sank in a pirate ship three hundred years ago. She thinks the third piece was brought back to Scotland by one of my ancestors.”

“How intriguing.” She leaned forward, giving him a tantalizing whiff of her soft floral scent. “Are you going to look for it?”

Her obvious excitement stirred a trickle of interest in the idea. He’d almost forgotten about Katherine Drummond and her pleas for him to join in the hunt. He’d been so busy lately he couldn’t remember if he’d even responded. “I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes shone. “It’s so romantic.”

Romantic was good. He was already entertaining romantic thoughts about Fiona, whose black cocktail dress wrapped her slim, athletic figure like a glass around a shot of single malt. “She’s convinced the third part of the cup is hidden somewhere on my Scottish estate. She’s even offered a reward for the person who finds it. I’ve had to hire security to keep treasure hunters from digging up the lawns and climbing the battlements.”

She laughed. “And you’ve never looked for it at all?”

“Nope. I know easier ways to earn a few thousand dollars.”

“But it sounds like an adventure.” Fiona glowed, and he found his own body temperature rising in response. He resisted the urge to loosen his collar, which suddenly felt tight. “I think you should search for it. Who knows what fabulous things might happen if you find the missing piece and put the chalice back together?”

“My life is pretty good right now.”

“I bet there’s at least one aspect of it that could be improved.”

I do need a wife. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that. Singapore’s conservative culture frowned on a man who was thirty-six years old and still playing the field. It was beginning to affect business. He’d been turned down by a potential partner in a very compelling project who let him know he didn’t approve of his lifestyle.

Lifestyle? Just because he liked to mind his own business and control his own destiny didn’t make him a womanizer. On the other hand, even serial monogamy began to look a bit flaky after nearly twenty years of dating, simply because of the sheer number of women involved.

There was no shortage of women ready, willing and able to marry him. They usually threw themselves at him once they got wind of the Scottish estate or the millions in investments. What he needed was a cool-headed and congenial business partner. Someone he could trust in the kind of legally binding contractual situation that modern marriage really was.

Someone—perhaps—like Fiona Lam.

She licked a droplet of champagne from her upper lip, sending a surge of heat crashing through him. Breathing deep, he shrugged out of his jacket. Fiona was a very attractive woman, and her high intelligence was even more of a turn-on than her lush lips or shapely legs.

“Or maybe I’m wrong?” She leaned back in her chair, eyes appraising him coolly. “Is there anything you want that you don’t already have?”

He laughed. “Always. That’s what gets me out of bed in the morning.”

“The thrill of the chase?”

“Makes my venture capitalist heart pump hard.”

“Maybe you’re not so different from your Scottish ancestors. You’re just excited by different quarry.”

“You could be onto something. They wanted a stag, or the neighbor’s estate, I want a nice international conglomerate with growth potential.”

She smiled. “You’re funny.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but I am pretty predictable.”

She tilted her head, sending a fall of shiny black hair to one shoulder. “Why haven’t you ever married?”

He stilled. “How do you know I haven’t?” Did she know more about him than she was letting on?

“No ring. And no tan line where the old ring used to be.”

He relaxed slightly. Being somewhat notorious, he tended to be on guard when meeting new people. Besides, anyone reading a business magazine could know the basic facts of his life. It was hardly top-secret information. “Never met the right woman.”

“Too picky?”

“Something like that. A marriage isn’t like an investment, where it’s worth taking a chance on because you can always get out.”

“You can always get out, for the right price.” A smile tilted her soft mouth.

He grimaced. “Usually the highest price the market will bear. Not attractive to a careful investor.”

“You’re too cautious to get married, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Or maybe it’s just the family curse.”

She laughed aloud, a pretty ringing sound, like the bells they used to play in the church back on the estate when he was a kid.

Where did that thought come from?

“I think you need to find the last part of that chalice and put it back together. Think of it as a hunt.” She leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table and her neat chin on her interlocked fingers. “It’ll be a great story to tell.”

A crazy idea flashed into his brain. “Come look for it.”

“What?” Her eyes widened.

“Come to Scotland. I have to take a trip back myself right now to deal with some estate matters. You said you’d like to visit. Take a break from the rat race and breathe some highland air.”

She was silent, and he could almost hear the cogs turning in her brain. Her eyes sparkled and he could see the idea intrigued her. “But I don’t even know you.”

“I’m pretty well-known around town. Ask people about me.”

“What will they tell me?” She looked deadly serious.

“That I play by my own rules, but always stand by my word.” He hesitated, knowing what else she would hear. “That I’m happiest when sinking my teeth into a new business.” He deliberately avoided the part about his alleged Casanova ways.

Her eyes had narrowed slightly, and she appeared to be considering his proposal. His pulse ratcheted and he realized how much he wanted her to accept. Even the usually unwelcome prospect of returning to the grim and vast baronial castle and the manager’s endless to-do list seemed less daunting with the prospect of the lovely Fiona in residence.

“Okay.” She spoke quietly, but without hesitation.

“You’ll come?” He couldn’t believe it.

“I will.” She sat back in her chair, expression still serious. “I’ve always wanted to go to Scotland, I love the idea of looking for an ancient relic, and I have nothing better to do right now. Why not?”

“Why not, indeed?” They discussed dates for a minute or two and he sent a text to his pilot while the waiter served their food. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his nerves crackled with excitement over something other than an intriguing business deal. “Done. We leave tomorrow.”

“Great.” Fiona’s voice faltered slightly. This was moving so much faster than she expected. “Who knew I’d be eating sea urchin and going to Scotland all in the space of one week?”

What would her dad think about her leaving so soon after she’d arrived? The main purpose of her stay here was to build their relationship. After ten days they’d barely managed to relax enough to hold a conversation, and now she was taking off around the world with his sworn enemy?

She’d have to explain her plan. He’d understand and know she was only doing it for him. He’d be so happy when she figured out how to wrest his factory back from James Drummond’s octopuslike embrace. This man needed to be stopped, and she wasn’t afraid to do it.

“Will you stay there with me?” This thought occurred to her for the first time almost as she said it. He’d asked her to come to his house and look for the cup. While snooping around his ancestral home might be fun, she couldn’t achieve her main goal unless he was there.

“Of course. I wouldn’t invite a guest and then take off.” He frowned. “Then again, I probably have done that, but I promise I won’t this time. I need to put in some face time there. The natives get restless if the lord of the manor goes AWOL for too long.”

“Is it really like that?”

He nodded. “I don’t understand why they care what I do, but they seem to feel I should be there judging flower displays at the village fete and hosting banquets on obscure saints’ days.”

“Very medieval.” There was something sexy about that. Which just proved how loopy she could be. He obviously hated it and ran off to Singapore all the time to avoid his feudal responsibilities. “Do you get to have people executed if they cross you?”

“I’ve never tried.” A tiny smile tugged at his broad, seductive mouth. “I don’t think anyone’s ever ticked me off that badly.”

I might. She let her own secret smile slip across her lips. “Are they putting pressure on you to find a lady of the manor?”

He laughed. “They wouldn’t dare.” Then his eyes darkened. “Though I’m sure they would if they didn’t think it would make me run for the hills.”

They certainly wouldn’t be too enthused about her, a snarky American with her roots in Singapore. No doubt they’d prefer a delicate Scottish rose with red-gold hair and pink cheeks, who thought arranging flowers on the church altar was the ideal way to spend a weekend.

Not that James was bringing her there to romance her. In fact, she had no idea why he did want her to come. She frowned and looked at him. His eyes smiled slightly when she met them, sending a frisson of … what? Excitement, terror and hot lust coursing right through her.

Did he really want her to find the cup? Surely someone closer to home would be a better choice. Did he want to bed her?

Yes. The subtle gleam in his eye made no secret of that. Maybe he was a lothario. And maybe he’d be disappointed in his efforts to add her to his list of conquests.

She took a bite of her sea urchin, sitting almost forgotten on her plate, and was surprised to find it tender and delicious. James was very distracting. She’d better make sure she kept her mind on her task—getting her father’s factory back. “This is good.”

“I told you it would be. Now you know you can trust me.”

She laughed, partly because he said it so innocently, as if he really believed it. If she didn’t know of his reputation as a heartless corporate shark, she’d have taken him for a genuinely nice guy. He certainly seemed generous and enthusiastic. Luckily for her, his reputation preceded him. “I don’t trust that easily. I do apparently have a taste for adventure, though. I’m excited about coming to Scotland.”

“You’ll win the reward if you find the cup.”

“If I do, I’ll donate it to charity. I’m not exactly hurting for money after the sale of Smileworks.”

“What are you going to do next?”

That’s for me to know and you to find out after I’ve done it. She shrugged. “Whatever takes my fancy. I’m in no rush.” Maybe she could convince him to sell her the factory for a pittance. She wasn’t sure why he’d bought it in the first place. “What’s your latest project?”

“I’m becoming interested in real estate. Sooner or later this recession will end and people will want everything bigger and better and newer than ever.”

“And you plan to be poised to take advantage of that.”

He sipped his wine. That mouth was wasted on a businessman. He should have been a pouting rock star. “I try to be ready for anything.”

Her father’s factory was centrally located in an old business district that was ripe for redevelopment into a yuppie paradise. The building was from the 1950s and looked like a giant shoebox. Until six weeks ago it had employed eighteen people and provided her father with his only source of income. But James had engaged in some skullduggery with the local government and managed to buy it out from under her dad for a pittance in unpaid taxes. At least that was how she understood it. All the workers had been laid off, and her dad was now facing bankruptcy, so the clock was ticking.

When she was younger, her dad had owned a chain of restaurants, but that had apparently disappeared. They’d had so little contact with him after she moved to the States with her mom that she was surprised to find him so close to the edge, when family legend had pegged him as a high-rolling, self-made tycoon.

She’d always planned to show him just how like him she was when she made her first million. Her anticipated triumph had been utterly destroyed by his sudden ruin. Now it looked as if she’d come to Singapore to crow over the father who abandoned her, when that was the very opposite of her intention.

Her heart squeezed. She’d grown up without her dad and she wasn’t going to lose him now. “I try to be ready for anything, too. And I had no idea I was so ready to go to Scotland with a complete stranger.”

He lifted his glass. “Here’s to the unexpected.”

She smiled and clinked hers against it. If you only knew.

Two

“These berms mark the edge of the estate.” James nodded to the window of the fast-moving Land Rover that had picked them up at Aberdeen airport.

Fiona peered out. Anticipation coursed through her body. Which was ridiculous. She was here on the most underhanded mission, yet she felt excited as if she genuinely hoped to find that damn cup and maybe even have a torrid affair with James while she did it. Deep ditches on the side of the road swooped up into high walls of grass and trees. They drove straight along this avenue for almost twenty minutes. “How big is the estate?”

“Big. But don’t worry. We’ll reach the business end soon.” Eventually, the road swung around and took them through a tall stone gateway. Hills soared around them, making her feel tiny in the dramatic landscape. “My ancestors liked privacy.”

“And you don’t?”

“Not that much.” He smiled. “A wall between me and my neighbors is quite enough. I don’t need a few miles.”

“Then it’s lucky you’ll have me here to bother you.”

“It is.”

Her skin tingled at the affirmation that he was glad of her company. She should feel guilty that she was here only to get her father’s factory back. She didn’t, though. The reports she’d read of James’s business practices had made her toes curl. He was all about the bottom line and clearly didn’t care whom he steamrolled over on the road to more greenbacks. And he hadn’t brought her here just to find some old cup. She wasn’t the worldliest person, but she’d been around the block to know he had some ulterior motive himself, even if it was just a highland fling.

The road was dead straight, carved right through the undulating landscape in what must have been an engineering feat to rival building the pyramids. High hedges loomed ahead, and once they passed those her jaw dropped as a menacing storybook castle rose in front of them.

A complex of buildings, mossy-gray stone in styles that looked medieval, Tudor, Victorian, even Roman, spread in all directions. “It’s huge.”

“It was more or less a town in its heyday. Everyone lived inside the defended area. Some still do—the estate manager and his staff.”

“I can see how a person could get lonely here.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Makes Singapore seem very welcoming by comparison.”

Fiona stared at him for a moment, feeling sudden affection for this man who felt more at home in a bustling, noisy Asian city than in the baronial halls of his ancestors. He seemed more human all the time.

Again, not a good thing.

“You must need a large staff to keep this place alive.”

“Not really. I know the villagers think I should do more with it, but as long as someone keeps the roof solid and the windows sealed, it takes care of itself. Sheep keep the grass down. A stone fortress is very low maintenance compared to a modern house.”

Someone must climb on a scaffold almost weekly to keep those monster hedges at the entrance manicured to perfection. Maybe he had no idea how much work it took to keep the place running. He probably didn’t care. It was all pocket change to him.

The car pulled up in a gravel courtyard the size of a football field. Not a weed in sight. Two men in dark suits carrying walkie-talkies appeared from behind more manicured bushes, but stilled at the sight of the car.

“The hired security. I don’t know what my cousin was thinking when she announced a reward for finding the cup.”

“She knew it would get people interested. Obviously she was right.” James climbed out of the car, and the driver opened her door and helped her out. She was starting to feel like a royal dignitary with all this VIP treatment. It might be hard to go back to ordinary life after this.

An older man emerged from the house and he and the driver carried their bags inside after a brief exchange with James. “Is he your butler?”

James nodded. “We call Angus the household manager. Sounds more modern, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes.” There was nothing modern about any of this. Which piqued her curiosity to get more of a glimpse into James Drummond’s rarefied life. With no bags to carry, she walked across the vast expanse of gravel feeling rather at a loss. Her cute stiletto heels kept tipping her this way and that, and James’s bold stride almost left her behind by the time they reached a veritable cliff of stone steps.

He turned and extended his arm. She had no choice but to take it. She tried to ignore the trickle of sensation that crept up her arm and across her body. You’d think a full day of travel in close proximity to the man might have killed any spark of sexual attraction. Unfortunately, however, it had stoked it into a steady flame. Good thing she was ruled by her head and not more unpredictable parts of her anatomy.

The doorway into the house looked more suited to a grand cathedral. She almost expected the smell of incense and the murmur of monks; instead, she was greeted by an aroma of bacon and the distant barking of dogs.

“You have dogs?”

“Not me. I travel too much. The hounds for the local hunt are kept on the estate. They gather here to hunt and I join them when I’m around. I won’t do it when you’re here, of course.”

“Why not?”

“It would be rude of me to leave you.”

“Maybe I could come, too?” She lifted a brow.

He frowned. “Hunting is done on horseback.”

She laughed, a loud, ringing sound that bounced off the stone walls. “I may be American but I’m not an idiot.”

“You ride?”

“Of course.” She decided to stride ahead, as if this news were nothing special. Inside she was glowing with triumph. James Drummond obviously had no idea what he had on his hands with her. “Where will I sleep?”

“Upstairs.” He followed her. “I’ll show you myself.”

Her bedroom looked fit for a queen. Perhaps one about to be executed in the Bloody Tower. A high, four-poster bed stood in the center of the room, curtains pulled back halfway to reveal rich brocade bedding. Tiny leaded windows filled the room with a gloomy half light. The large Oriental rug was worn and faded, possibly by hundreds of years of use. What appeared to be a priceless Ming vase stood high on the stone mantel. “Your family doesn’t go in for redecorating, do they?”

He chuckled. “Not since about 1760. You could say we’re a bit set in our ways.”

“At least you don’t waste money on passing fads.”

“Not often. These newfangled glass windows were controversial when they first came out, but we like them.”

She smiled. “And you can still open them to pour boiling oil on marauders.”

“Absolutely. The designers thought of everything.”

“Is there a bathroom, or have those not established themselves in fashion for long enough?”

He gestured to a low wood door. She pulled the handle with some trepidation, and was surprised when it opened into a large, heavily marbled room with an appropriately antique-looking tub and sink and toilet in sparkling condition. At least she wouldn’t have to wash herself from a jug.

“There’s no shower, I’m afraid. We’re still not convinced those are here to stay, but water does come out of the taps, so you won’t have to call for Angus to bring it.”

“That is a relief. I’m not sure I want Angus seeing me in a towel.” She wanted to laugh, but somehow managed not to. “I am beginning to worry about finding this cup.”

“Why?” He frowned, which annoyingly made him look even more handsome.

“The place makes big look small.”

“It’s sprawling, but quite simple to navigate, and there’s little clutter to deal with. The Drummonds always seem to have gone in for a sparse, minimalist style.”

“How forward thinking.”

“Are you tired?”

“No. I was thinking about that bacon and what lucky person might get to eat it.”

He laughed. “Let’s go.”

Breakfast was served in a grand hall. They sat at a long wooden table, its surface polished to a high sheen. The blue-and-white porcelain plates had probably been imported from China in the 1700s. After they ate their fill from a collection of covered dishes, James offered to give her a whirlwind tour of the castle.

“You might be the first non-Drummond to see inside the east wing this century,” he murmured, as he pulled open a wood door studded with dark iron. He ducked through the low entranceway.

“Are you sure you won’t have to kill me because I’ve seen too much?” Her skin prickled with excitement, partly from gaining entry to the Drummonds’ inner sanctum, but mostly from continued proximity to James.

“Time will tell.” He shot her a dark gray glance that made her freeze for a second, until she saw the humor sparkling behind his steely visage.

She swallowed. Time would tell all, but she’d make sure to put plenty of distance between them before that happened.

He gestured for her to enter. The hallway was narrow and she brushed against his arm as she passed. Even through his expensive shirt, his touch still sent a hot flash of awareness coursing through her. What did his body look like under his elegant armor? Was he muscled and athletic, or was that just her fevered imagination at work?

Her heart pumped faster as she entered the low hallway with its coffered ceiling. Her cute shoes clacked annoyingly on the flagstone floor. James could probably lock her up in one of these rooms and it would be months—years—before anyone found her. “Where are you taking me?”

“The oldest part of the house. It’s where Drummonds piled their junk once they cleared it out of the more inhabited rooms. It’s the first place I’d suggest looking for the cup piece.”

“What kind of shape is it?” Online research into the story had told her it was the base of the cup they were looking for, but no need for him to know she’d done some digging on her own.

“Round, I’d guess. It’s the part that sits on the table, the base, so it could be a hexagon or similar.”

“I hope it hasn’t been thrown away over the years.”

“Or melted down to make bullets. That’s the kind of thing the Drummonds might do with miscellaneous metal.”

“They sound a lovely bunch, your ancestors.”

“‘Keep thy blade sharp’ is the family motto. It’s right on the crest under the raven’s claws.”

That might explain James’s ruthless pursuit of his goals. He had no idea she even knew of his reputation. She decided to call his bluff. “You seem so different.”

“Am I?” He didn’t look at her, but out a small leaded window, at the white sky. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Why do you think of yourself as ruthless?” Maybe she could make him peer into his own hard heart and appeal to his sense of right and wrong to get her father’s factory back. Then he’d be grateful to her for helping him see the light. They could be friends—or lovers?—and live happily ever after.

Reality smacked her in the face as his laugh bounced off the thick stone walls. “I think I’m the last person you should ask about that.”

She decided not to push further. Not yet. She was here as his guest, and she didn’t want him getting suspicious about her motives. The hallway seemed to go on forever, and all the doors along it were closed. “What’s behind all these doors?”

“Small bedrooms. Probably once inhabited by vassals.”

“What the heck is a vassal?”

He chuckled. “Hangers-on. People who lived off the good grace—what little there was of it—of the auld Drummonds.”

Like me. “Interesting. What would they get out of keeping such people around?”

“People who are obligated come in useful when you need a favor. Or some dirty work done.”

She glanced behind her, for no good reason. Had James brought her here for reasons of his own? She thought she was so cunning to get invited into the heart of his empire, but maybe he had his own nefarious plans for her.

The fearsome clack of her own shoe heels was getting on her rather raw nerves.

Suddenly James took a turn to the left and pulled back an iron bolt on a tall wood door. “Welcome to the oldest part of the castle.”

The door opened onto a sort of balcony. She stepped through it and peered over a stone rampart into a square-shaped hall. Antique wood furniture sprawled uninvitingly on the flagstone floor of the hall about thirty feet below where they stood. Above them a ceiling of great wood beams had probably held up the roof for a thousand years.

James marched along a gallery and down a flight of narrow wood stairs toward the main floor. She followed slowly, staring around the space. She could almost feel the presence of all the men and women who must have breathed the air in this space over the years. “This is incredible. How come you don’t use it?”

“The newer parts of the castle are more comfortable. And they have heat.”

A grand stone fireplace stood cold and empty. Visions of a roaring flame, and maybe something roasting on a spit, crowded her mind. “How strange to think that your ancestors have lived here since the day it was built.”

“They haven’t.” He stared up at a carved crest above the fireplace. “Gaylord Drummond lost the whole estate in a game of dice in the eighteenth century. That’s how some of the Drummonds ended up in America. He gambled and drank away everything they owned except the one mysterious cup everyone’s so excited about, so his three sons took off for the untamed shores of the New World to make their fortunes. There they apparently split up the cup and each took a piece, vowing to reunite it one day.” His stony gaze still rested on the chiseled stone.

“And one of them ended up back here.”

“He made a killing in beaver pelts up in Canada.”

“Poor beavers.”

“They used to make hats out of their fur. Very waterproof, apparently. He made his fortune, then sailed back here and bought the place from the son of the farmer who had won it from his father.”

“And presumably he brought his piece of the cup with him.”

James shrugged. “Can’t say I care one way or the other.”

“You’re terrible. It’s a part of your family history.”

“I keep this pile going. That’s my contribution to the family history. Maybe I should start playing dice. Losing it would save me a fortune.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Not really.” He finally looked at her, and again his gray gaze stole her breath. “Though sometimes I wish I did.”

She thought she saw emotion somewhere behind his stony facade. How could you not feel a powerful sense of history—even destiny—while standing in such an ancient and dramatic space? If she could feel it, she knew ancestral pride must beat somewhere in James Drummond’s cold heart. She could hardly imagine being heir to such a kingdom even if, by today’s standards, it was rather remote and unpopulated.

She drew in a long breath and stared about her. “I think it’s magical.”

His attention focused on her again, its icy blast like a laser. Did he suddenly suspect her of trying to worm her way into his affections so she could be mistress of this place? Women must have been trying for decades. She regretted her cheesy enthusiasm, and managed a casual shrug. “But I can see how a condo near Orchard Road would be easier to maintain.”

He laughed. “Unquestionably.” His eyes narrowed and she felt herself under scrutiny again. For a split second his gaze seemed to scan her body like an unemotional piece of precision equipment, but somehow it left her nipples tingling, her belly quivering and her knees shaky.

She wheeled around. Maybe if she couldn’t see him he’d have less power over her. It was infuriating how a simple glance from him sent her pulse racing. He was her enemy, for crying out loud. Perhaps he brought all his potential conquests here to astonish them with his family grandeur and made them swoon into his arms.

“So, where’s the cup?” She walked farther away from him, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Hardly. You know where the nooks and crannies are.” There didn’t even seem to be any that she could see. Though there were some battered wooden doors along one wall. “You know, the places where they locked up their enemies and left them for dead?”

“Oubliettes are more of a French thing. We Scots prefer to slit their throats in broad daylight then have a party.”

She had to laugh. “A simple folk.”

“Yes. Reporters have accused me of similar behavior in my business dealings.” Humor glittered in his cool gaze.

She cursed the way her heart fluttered. He’d just admitted that he was a ruthless bastard! How could she still be attracted to him? She should be worried about her own sanity. “Do you think they’re right?” She tried to maintain a steely stare.

“Maybe.” He turned and strode across the room, leaving her standing there, heart pounding and unspoken words crowding her brain.

You stole my father’s business and left him penniless and devastated. She had to keep a cool head until she figured out how to get it back. She couldn’t let him know that she was on the side of those who despised him. “I guess that’s just business, huh?”

He wheeled around, and she was surprised to see a half smile on his face. “It’s a relief to talk to someone who understands.”

She blinked. Okay. She’d opened this trapdoor and fallen in all by herself. “I haven’t had to slit any throats yet.”

He laughed. “You’re still young.”

“Not really.” How arrogant of him. He was only a few years older than she. “I have plenty of life experience.”

Laughter danced in his eyes. “Of course you do.”

She wanted to slap him. “I started my first business when I was twelve.”

“A lemonade stand?”

“Buying old computers and reselling them for scrap.” She lifted her chin. “Much more profitable than squeezing lemons.” No need to mention she’d had the lemonade stand, too.

He moved closer to her. Which was unsettling considering that they had about an acre of space around them. “I started my first business at eleven.”

“Competitive, aren’t you?” She raised a brow. All the tiny hairs on her body stood on end, prickling with awareness as he moved even closer.

“Very. Some have even said it will be my downfall.”

Maybe sooner than you think. “What was your first business?”

“I bought wholesale chocolate bars and resold them to the desperate souls at my boarding school.”

“A captive audience.”

“The best kind.” His shoulders were broad, almost straining against the elegant cut of his shirt. The great room was cool, but she could feel her body temperature spiking as he shifted his stance. His gray gaze rested right on her face, thoughtful, daring her to argue with him.

She straightened her own shoulders and raised herself to her full height, which unfortunately was a good half a foot less than his. “Is it hard to find a captive audience these days?”

“Not at all.” He held her gaze for a heartbeat. “Everyone’s captive in one way or another.”

“Are you?” Had he moved closer? She didn’t see him move his feet, but he was now so near she could lift her hand and touch him. His male scent—expensive wool and subtle musk—tickled her senses. Her nipples now strained against her bra, and she hoped he didn’t notice.

“Absolutely.” His voice was a low growl that took her by surprise, but not as much as the way he stepped in, lifted her chin deftly with his fingers and pressed his lips softly to hers.

Electric voltage zapped through her. Her body temperature shot skyward as his tongue touched hers. I’m kissing James Drummond.

She felt the weight of his palms settle on her lower back. Her breath now came in unsteady gasps, and her hands crept up to his torso and fisted themselves in his shirt.

This man is a beast. He chews people up and spits them out. He just confessed as much!

His low moan in her ear made her desire surge. Her fingers dug into his hard back. His rough skin created pleasurable friction against her cheek as he shifted the angle of the kiss and plunged deeper, making her arch her back and lean into his arms.

Uh-oh. Instead of fighting him off, she gripped him tighter and kissed him back with all the strength she possessed.

His scent was intoxicating. Surprisingly masculine and rugged, betraying the man hidden beneath the expensive designer clothes. She could feel the raw passion of his warlike ancestors surging through them both.

Was there magic in this place? If so, it might be the dark and scary kind. She certainly didn’t feel fully in control of this situation—or even herself—at this moment.

And there was that family curse to contend with….

James’s strong hand squeezed her buttock, which made her squirm. Her breasts bumped against his chest, and his other hand rose to skim her nipple with his thumb. His lips never left hers. His kiss was alternately fierce and tender, drawing her in and taking her breath away. She’d never been kissed like this.

He’s your enemy.

This is probably exactly what his ancestors did with their enemies. The female ones, at least. She was being ravished. Why did it feel so good?

Her fingers had somehow wandered into his thick hair. She pressed the length of her body against his, and the thickening of his arousal made her heart beat faster. James Drummond seemed so cool, so controlled, that it only heightened her desire to feel him surging within her with heat and passion.

There was definitely more to this man than met the eye, or was written about in the columns of Investor’s Business Daily. The way she felt right now, she could easily imagine peeling off his shirt and pants and making love to him right there on the cold stone floor of his ancestral castle.

But he pulled back. His hands slid from her waist and his lips slipped away from hers. An icy chill seemed to replace his touch. She opened her eyes—how long had they been closed?—and found herself blinking in the cold light of the empty hall.

James’s eyes were narrowed, his face hard. “I hadn’t intended for that to happen.” He shoved a hand through his tousled hair. “Yet.”

Three

Fiona smoothed the front of her black shirtdress. She hadn’t changed since getting off the plane so it was probably rumpled even before James started roaming his hands over it. She couldn’t believe she’d let him smooch her before she’d been here one entire day.

The word yet said it all. She now knew he’d fully intended to enjoy her in his bed, but after a suitable preamble of flirtation. Apparently, he’d grown impatient, and she’d fallen right into his arms like the fawning girls who no doubt cooed over him on every continent.

“I didn’t intend for that to happen at all.” She tried to look calm. “In fact, I’m still not sure what did happen.”

“I think they call it kissing.” His narrowed gaze showed only the coldest glint of humor. “And it’s entirely too early in the day for it, apart from any other objections.”

Her body still pulsed with arousal. Her fingertips itched to touch his hard body, and her lips ached for the crush of his mouth. Who was he to suddenly announce it was a big mistake? “You started it.”

Her childish retort hung in the air for a moment and she wished she could take it back. It was true, though.

His eyes widened very slightly. “I didn’t notice you fighting me off.”

“Maybe I was just trying to be a polite guest.” This was getting sillier every moment.

One side of his arrogant mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Your manners are impeccable.”

Irritation surged inside her, mingling with the almost painful desire that had sensitized her whole body. She raised herself to her full, not very impressive height. “I don’t know about yours.”

He raised a brow. “I have to agree with you.” Then he frowned. “I’m not sure whether an apology is in order or whether that would be downright rude under the circumstances.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Maybe we should just act like it didn’t happen.”

“I don’t think so.” His gaze drifted lower. Not to anywhere obvious, like her breasts, but to her collarbone, which felt singed by his hot, dark gaze, then to her hands, which were now knotted in front of her.

“I’m not good at pretending.”

He laughed. “Me, either. Okay, it happened and damn it, I enjoyed it.”

She fought a smile that wanted to rip across her mouth. “No comment.” Her enjoyment was so obvious there was no need to encourage him to gloat with triumph. “So, the cup. Where were we?”

James glanced around the room, as if wondering where exactly they were. “I confess I’m not entirely sure. Certainly not where I thought we would be.”

She laughed. Couldn’t help it. It was probably all the tension—sexual and otherwise—that had built in the air around them. “Let’s keep moving forward, shall we? And try to stay focused this time?”

“I like a woman with a good head on her shoulders.”

“I can tell.” She lifted her chin. “What’s through that door?” She marched forward, determined to have some say in where this was going. Drifting along, allowing James to lead the way, was obviously dangerous.

“Try the handle.”

She reached out, wondering what could be the worst-possible scenario for what they’d encounter on the other side. “What if it’s a closet full of your family skeletons?”

“If one of them is clutching a cup, we’re well on our way.”

“If the Drummonds in New York found the stem, and the ones in Florida found the part you drink from, there isn’t much cup for skeletal fingers to wrap around.”

“Are you afraid to open that door?”

“Not at all.” Her hand still clutched the small round handle, and she forced herself to turn it. With her luck it would be locked anyway. It swung open suddenly, almost pulling her into the room with it. She let go of the handle as if it burned. The room was piled high with furniture. Literally, it was piled almost to the rather low ceiling. Chairs and tables and chests, all obviously old and made of unpainted dark wood. “I think we found the junk room.”

“Interesting.” James stepped past her and into the room. “I’ve never been in here. I don’t think I ever even noticed the door before.” He looked around at the stacks of furniture that blocked their entrance. “You certainly are bringing something to this quest.”

“Let’s hope it’s good luck that I’m bringing.”

“I’m not at all sure, but I’ll take my chances.” His challenging gray gaze met hers.

Her heart kicked violently in response. Partly because a simple glance from him had that effect on her, and partly because she hadn’t come here to bring him good luck.

“I bet some of these pieces are quite valuable.”

“Do you know anything about antique furniture?” He rubbed at the finish of a nearby upside-down chair.

“Nothing at all.”

“Me neither. I guess we’ll just leave it here for the next generation to rediscover. Though I suppose we should check all the drawers for cup bottoms.” He tugged on the brass handle of an elaborately carved chest. The drawer didn’t budge.

“Let me try.” She needed something to do. Her nerves were all on edge. She grabbed the handle and tugged on it. It came off in her hand, revealing sharp brass nails. “Oh.”

“Looks like we’ll have to keep you away from the priceless artifacts.” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I’m sure it will be easy to fix.” She looked at the handle in her hand. The nails made it look like a weapon. “Though maybe we should leave that to a professional.” What little she did know about furniture told her that this little carved chest was several hundred years old.

James wrapped his long, strong fingers around the outside of the drawer and pulled it out as if it were a matchbox. Empty.

“That was an anticlimax.” She heaved a sigh of relief, then wondered why. Was she worried they’d find this dumb cup base too soon and she’d have no excuse to stay here?

He pulled out the next drawer. Also empty, and very stained with something that looked like black ink. “Is that the blood of your ancestors’ enemies, perhaps?”

“Nope. Too dark. There’s a bloodstained floorboard in one of the upstairs bedrooms that resists all attempts to clean it. It’s where one of my forebears was murdered by his manservant.”

“Yikes. I guess that’s the family curse in action.”

“No doubt. It’s quite a different color than this, though. Much richer. Almost like a wood stain.”

“I’ll have to remember that if I need to refinish something cheaply.” She blew out another breath as he closed the drawer. She turned and lifted the lid on a nearby piece built like an old steamer trunk, but made of blackened oak carved with oak leaves. The lid opened easily, and the contents made her gasp. “This entire chest is filled with cup bases!”

James moved over to where she stood blinking at all the wide bases with their narrow stems. He let out a loud laugh. “Those are candlesticks.”

“Oh. Of course they are.” She cursed her stupidity. “I suppose that’s a perfect example of seeing things the way you want them to be.”

He picked one up and twisted it in the light. Like the others, it was a dark metal, tarnished to a dull, sheen-less finish. “I guess these all went out of style overnight when they wired the place for electricity. Not that this wing ever got wired. I suppose they just shoved them all here out of the way.”

“Funny to think how important these once were.”

“They still are. We lose power quite often here.” He smiled at her, which made her stomach do an alarming shimmy. “Wait until we get a storm, you’ll see.”

She fought the urge to shiver. “I’d worry about all the ghosts coming out to party.”

“I don’t worry about them.” He shoved his hand into the tangle of candlesticks.

“So there are ghosts?”

“I’d imagine so.” He plucked one out and turned it in the light. “But as long as they leave me alone I won’t bother them, either.”

She stared. James Drummond was turning out to be quite different than she’d imagined. “I guess we should go through these and see if any of them could be a cup base. They are more or less the same shape. How big is the cup?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen pictures of it. I suppose I should call Cousin Katherine and get all the details now that we’re officially on the prowl for it.”

“I bet she’ll be thrilled.”

“She will. Let’s ask her to send some photos of the other pieces.”

Katherine was out. James left a message explaining their situation and asking her to call.

Exhausted from their long trip, they ate an early dinner of beautifully prepared mini hens with some sort of fruity sauce and went to their separate rooms. She locked the door from the inside with the great iron key in the lock.

Not that James was likely to come looking for her after midnight, of course, but after what happened that afternoon …

She woke up in the dead of night with no idea what time it was. She’d fallen asleep like someone plunging into a coma and hadn’t taken the time to keep her phone handy. The sky must have been overcast, as there was no hint of a moon. The room was a black hole.

With ghosts probably hanging around in the corners, watching her.

She pulled the covers up over her shoulders. That kiss had been crazy. It came out of nowhere and blew her off her feet like a Santa Ana wind. She had no idea he was that attracted to her. She’d been ogling him, sure, but she was pretty confident she had her lust under control. She wasn’t usually given to bouts of groping and fondling strange men she’d just met.

He must have been feeling the same way. She shifted into the mattress with a swell of satisfaction. So, James Drummond thought she was hot.

Then she bit her lip. She was here to help her father. James Drummond’s baser instincts were interesting to her only in so far as they’d help her get that factory back.

She sat up. There had been times when she’d almost forgotten about her father and that accursed factory, but now that she was away from Drummond’s seductive gaze she should focus on what was really important.

Determined to find her phone, she slid her feet gingerly over the edge of the bed, hoping no spectral hands would grab at her ankles.

Stop being a wuss. The Persian rug felt threadbare under her toes, and a floorboard creaked alarmingly when she leaned her weight on one foot. Heart pounding, she crept across the room to the chair where she’d left her purse. Groping in the dark, she found her phone and let out a sigh of relief. She scurried back to the bed and climbed under the covers, then pulled up her father’s number.

It rang the inevitable four times before he answered with a gruff, “Hello.”

“Hi, Dad.” She smiled at the sound of the words. She’d longed all her life to have a relationship with her father. She’d gone almost twelve years without even seeing him, and she was still angry with her mother for insisting that it was best to leave him alone.

“Who is it?” He did have an abrasive tone. She could see he wasn’t a good match for her bubbly, artistic mother.

“It’s Fiona.” Who else could he think it was? He didn’t have any other children. He was funny. “You won’t believe where I’m calling from.”

Suddenly she wondered if she should tell him. Would he believe she’d come all the way to Scotland just to help him out, or would he suspect she had entirely different motives in climbing into James Drummond’s bed? Or one of them, at least.

“Where are you, Fifi?”

The term of endearment made her smile. If anyone else called her that she’d knock the person flat, but every conversation with her dad was a dream come true. “I’m in Scotland. At James Drummond’s estate.” She held her breath, waiting to see if he’d explode in a volley of abuse at the man he hated so much.

But dead silence hung in the air. She heard noise, like something happening at the other end of the line.

“I’m here to get your factory back, Dad.”

“What? You can’t do that. It’s gone. That bastard stole it.” His words burst into her ear, so loud she almost dropped the phone.

“He owns it, yes, but he hasn’t done anything with it. As long as it’s still standing, I can buy it back.”

“He won’t sell it.”

This was true. She’d had a local real estate agent approach him and met with a firm refusal. But hopefully getting to know him would change things. “Every item has a price at which it becomes disposable.” Even she had her price when they finally offered her so much money for Smileworks that she couldn’t say no. “I’ll convince him.”

“He’s an evil man.”

“Not evil.” She frowned. “Just misguided.” Not unlike her father. Her mom had told her unflattering stories about him when she was growing up. Not all at once, but a little at a time. How he never uttered anything but criticism, worked twenty-three hours of the day and put every penny he earned back into the business so she had to make meals with rice and broth. Not the existence a young bride dreams of. Now that Fiona was an adult, she understood that everything worth achieving required a sacrifice. Her father and mother were just cut from different cloth: her mom’s soft and flowery and her dad’s crisp and tailored. She knew she was more like him. “He’s not so bad, really.”

“Why did he invite you? Is he trying to take advantage of you?”

Yes. At first she wasn’t sure why he had invited her. Now she had a better idea. Strangely, it didn’t scare her as much as it should. “Nothing like that. I’m supposedly here to help him look for a lost family artifact. We’re searching through rooms of old junk.”

“You be careful around that snake.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” She’d have to put a double lock on her chastity belt. His hard, serious gaze had a disconcerting effect on her libido. “I’m trying to get to know him better so I can come up with a good plan. I’m currently leaning toward telling him I need to buy a building in Singapore as part of my next business. If he’s as ruthless as they say, he won’t mind selling as long as he’s screwing me over.”

“Don’t give your money to that demon. He stole it from me.”

“I know. Did you call the lawyer I told you about?” Surely if it was illegally obtained, her dad could get it back through the courts.

“Pah, lawyers. They’ll just take more of my money and keep it.”

“So he paid your taxes and got to keep the building? I don’t really understand how that can happen.”

“I was a little late with them. Not much, you understand. Just a little late.”

How late? The government office she’d contacted said he’d lost the property through nonpayment but wouldn’t reveal the details. Her dad firmly maintained that James had stolen it. Her relationship with her dad was still in a delicate, early stage and she didn’t want to do anything that might embarrass him and drive him away. “I’ll figure something out. Anyway, I wanted to let you know where I am so you don’t worry.”

“It sounds like I have good reason to worry, Fifi. You watch out for yourself with that ang mo gui.”

“I will.” She wanted to protest that James didn’t have red hair, but of course the term ang mo gui was a generalized slang for Westerners that happened to mean “red-haired devil.” “I can handle myself just fine.” She glanced around the dark bedroom, reluctant to hang up the phone and lose her lifeline back to the real world. It was 3:00 a.m., with hours of darkness between now and morning. And who knew how many auld ghosts hung and hovered in the corners. “When I get back I want to take you to my new favorite restaurant.” Hopefully to give him the good news that she’d regained control of his factory, but no sense getting overconfident.

“I’d love that, Fifi. It’ll be my treat.”

She swallowed. She wasn’t sure he could even buy her dinner at McDonald’s at the moment, but he’d be terribly upset if he knew she knew that. She had to come up with all kinds of creative stratagems to pay for their meals and buy him presents. His pride had no doubt played a part in his fall—a lesson she could learn from. “Great. You’d better not call me here, just in case. I don’t want them to figure out I’m your daughter. I’m keeping everything secret.”

He laughed, obviously delighted by the subterfuge. “My lips are sealed.”

“I’ll call again soon.” She hung up, with a sudden rush of emotion and happiness that she had a second chance to grow close to her father. She wasn’t going to blow it. He’d always wished for a son to carry on his name, but she’d show him that a daughter could be even better.

Her next encounter with James came at the breakfast table. Bored and restless alone in her room, she grew brave and ventured downstairs by herself. She hadn’t fallen back to sleep after her conversation with her father, and now she was starving. Dishes of bacon, a rack of cold toast with butter and marmalade, a vat of jellified oatmeal. All very austere and aristocratic. She wolfed down some toast and bacon, and three cups of brutally strong tea, and was feeling fairly human by the time he strode in.

“Sorry I wasn’t down first. I was more tired than I thought.”

“No worries. I found my way here. I might get used to having breakfast waiting for me every morning.”

“Would you like coffee? We do have some, way up in a cupboard somewhere.”

“I’ll survive on tea. I like to go native when I’m in a new place.”

“Katherine emailed me pictures of the other two parts of the cup. I’ve just sent them to you.”

She pulled out her phone and looked at hard-to-read images of dark metal against a white background. “She’s very excited that I’m finally looking for it. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’m using security guards to prevent people from combing the estate for it and claiming her reward.”

Fiona smiled. “We’d better find it quick before she raises the reward to attract more people.”

“Too true.” James was more annoyingly handsome than ever. He wore loose riding breeches with tall leather boots and a checked shirt, which should have looked silly but made him seem tall and dashing and like the lord and master of all he surveyed. “I’m going riding this morning and I thought you might join me, if you’re interested.” His eyebrow lifted slightly. Was he calling her bluff? Maybe he didn’t believe she could ride.

“I’d love to.” She smiled coolly. “I hope it’s not against the law to ride in jeans and loafers.”

“We have so many old laws here I just assume everything’s forbidden and go ahead with it anyway.” He piled bacon, toast and some bright orange scrambled eggs onto a plate. “Luckily the place is so big and remote there’s no one around to stop me.”

“Good.” Her pulse had quickened. Possibly from the prospect of galloping through the Scottish countryside, but more likely from the early-morning vision of James, with his dark hair wet and slicked back, and droplets of water still clinging to his neck and dampening the collar of his shirt. “Do you miss riding when you’re in Singapore?” She still found it odd that he chose to spend most of his time there when he had his own grand empire here in Scotland.

“Not at all. I play polo at least twice a week.” He drank some tea.

“Oh.” Of course. No wonder he looked so fit and muscular.

“Do you play?”

“No. I’ve never tried it. I’d love to, though.”

He raised a brow. “Really? We’ll have to look into that when we’re back in Singapore.”

Her heart beat faster. Damn, she wished she could take him up on his offer. She’d always wanted to play polo but never had the chance. Going for trail rides and the occasional jumping competition was a pretty exclusive experience back in Cali, and she’d felt privileged to do that. But of course by the time they were back in Singapore, James would likely know who she really was and probably hate her guts, so she wouldn’t be invited to his polo club.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.