About the Author

LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Sir Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa and had many other unusual experiences, which have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, where romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.

Two of her books have won a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award.

You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.

Falling for the Rebel Falcon
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I dedicate this book to Katerina, my friend in Russia, who has told me so much about that lovely country.

PROLOGUE

‘DON’T LEAVE ME. Please, please don’t leave me!’

Varushka’s voice rose to a desperate cry. She reached out frantically, seeking someone who wasn’t there, who hadn’t been there for many years, who would never be there.

‘Where are you? Come back! Don’t leave me!’

She cried out again and again, then gasped as she felt a pair of loving arms enfold her.

‘I’m here, Mamma. I haven’t gone anywhere.’

The young man’s voice was affectionate and comforting, but it hardly seemed to reach the middle-aged woman sitting on the garden seat. Her eyes were closed, seeming to lock her into the prison of her private misery.

‘Don’t go,’ she whispered. ‘Stay with me. I beg you.’

‘Mamma, wake up, please.’ The young man sounded distraught. ‘It’s me, Leonid, your son. I’m not … anyone else. Open your eyes. Look at me.’

He moved closer beside her on the garden seat, touching her face with gentle fingers to brush away the tears.

‘Open your eyes,’ he begged again.

She did so, but stared in bewilderment, as though unable to recognise him. His heart sank, and for a moment he too was on the verge of weeping. Determinedly he controlled the weakness.

‘Mamma,’ he murmured. ‘Please. ’

At last the vacant look died out of her eyes, and she managed a feeble smile as she finally recognised her son.

‘Forgive me,’ she murmured. ‘I fell asleep, and in my dreams he was there with me. I felt his hands taking hold of me—’

‘They were my hands, Mamma,’ Leonid said gently. ‘I came out to find you here in the garden to say goodbye. I’m off to attend Marcel’s wedding in Paris. Didn’t you remember that I said I was leaving today?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘Of course I remembered.’

But they both knew it wasn’t his departure that had made her cry out in terrible anguish, but another departure long ago; and the memory of a man who’d vowed to return, but who had done so only rarely over thirty years, and never for long.

‘Naturally you must go now,’ she said. ‘Your father will be waiting for you in Paris. Oh, how he’ll be longing to see you!’

If he was there at all, Leonid thought. With another man it could be taken for granted that he would attend the wedding of one of his sons, but with Amos Falcon nothing could be taken for granted.

‘You’ve got my letter?’ Varushka urged. ‘You’ll give it to him?’

‘Of course I will, Mamma.’

‘And you’ll bring his letter back to me?’

‘I promise.’

Even if I have to twist his arm to make him write something, he brooded. But she must not be allowed to suspect his thoughts.

‘Perhaps he might even come back with you,’ she murmured. ‘Oh yes, say that you’ll bring him here to see me. Promise me.’

‘I can’t promise, Mamma,’ he said. ‘He has so many demands on his time, and Marcel’s wedding cropped up so suddenly that he couldn’t make any plans.’

‘But you will try? Tell him how much I long to see him, and I know that will make him decide.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, speaking with difficulty. ‘Perhaps you should come into the house now. It’s getting chilly.’

‘Let me stay here. I love looking at this so much.’ She made a gesture towards the lawn that sloped down and away, giving them a splendid view of the Don River. ‘It’s where we were together, where we will one day be together again. I know that. I must simply be patient. Goodbye, my dear boy. I’ll wait to hear from you.’

He drew her close in a hug, kissed her lovingly then walked away with a heavy heart.

As he neared the house he saw an elderly woman watching him through a window. She was Nina, who looked after his mother, and who now came to the door.

‘How is she managing?’

‘Not well,’ he sighed. ‘She’s given me a letter for my father. It’s sad that she still believes he loves her after all these years.’

‘Whereas Amos Falcon used her, abandoned her, broke every promise he ever made to her,’ Nina said scathingly. Although, strictly speaking, she was Leonid’s employee, she knew she could risk talking like this of his father. He treasured her for his mother’s sake, and it was only because he trusted Nina to care for her that he was able to leave this country house and return to Moscow, where he had to live for the sake of his extensive business interests.

‘He didn’t break every promise,’ he reminded her. ‘He’s supported Mamma financially—’

‘From a distance. That was easy for him. Where was he when her husband learned he wasn’t your father? Did he offer to help, except with cash?’

‘I suffer for her as much as you do, Nina. When I see him in Paris I’m going to do my best.’

‘Can you get him to come here for a visit? You know she’s set her heart on that?’

‘Yes. I’ll try.’ He gave a soft groan. ‘What can I do? She lives in a fantasy world in which he loves her and will one day return. Is it better for her to believe those dreams than face the truth?’

‘Let her believe them if it helps her endure life,’ Nina advised.

‘You’re right. I must go now.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘What would I do without you?’

‘You don’t have to. I’m going into the garden now so that she won’t be alone as you go. Be off now or you’ll miss your plane.’

He went down to where a man was waiting with the car. At the last minute he turned to look up the sloping lawn to where his mother was waving. He blew kisses, giving her his brightest smile so that she wouldn’t suspect the sadness that overtook him at the thought of her bleak life.

It would never improve, he knew. He could only do his best to make her remaining time as contented as possible. But it wasn’t in his power to give her the happiness she craved.

Varushka watched the car as it vanished into the distance.

‘Oh Nina, it’s so wonderful,’ she said. ‘He’s going to see his father in Paris, and bring Amos back to see me.’

‘If he can,’ Nina said carefully.

‘Oh yes, he will. He said Amos would definitely return to see me in a few days.’ She sighed ecstatically. ‘He gave me his promise.’

CHAPTER ONE

PERDITA GUESSED WHO was here as soon as she heard the frenzied knock on her door. Sure enough, it was Jim, a nice young man who considered himself her boyfriend, standing there, agitated.

‘Perdita, you can’t do this to me. It’s not fair.’

‘Hush, don’t shout. Come inside.’

He came rushing in and threw himself onto the sofa, growling, ‘How do you expect me to feel when I’ve been looking forward to our time together and you dump me?’ He held up his cellphone. ‘By text, for Pete’s sake!’

‘I didn’t dump you, I just said I can’t get away for our little trip next week. Something’s come up. I’m sorry, Jim. I’ll make it up to you another time.’

She spoke sweetly but Jim wasn’t placated. Perdita Davis was a little too good at this, winning a man’s heart, backing off then soothing him with a beguiling smile.

She could get away with it because she was gorgeous, with long blonde hair, devastating blue eyes, a figure slender enough for the most demanding clothes and a lot of impish charm. That was the trouble, he thought crossly. She knew exactly how far she could go.

‘I have to dash off soon,’ she said. ‘There’s a story coming up that I just can’t miss.’

Perdita was a freelance journalist with a talent for discovering scoops and exploiting them to the full.

‘So where is this earth-shattering story?’ Jim seethed.

‘Paris. I’ve just booked my room at La Couronne.’

‘That’s the most expensive hotel in Paris.’

‘I know. I managed to get the very last room. It’s been filling up fast since the rumours started.’

‘What rumours?’

‘The wedding. Marcel Falcon is getting married in a few days.’

‘And who the blazes is Marcel Falcon?’

‘He’s the owner of La Couronne, but that’s not the point. His half-brother is Travis Falcon. You must have heard of him, surely?’

‘Sure. Big TV star.’

‘He’s been in the news a lot recently because of this new woman in his life. Apparently she’s not like the slinky, sexy “bits of fun” he’s usually seen with. She’s actually respectable, and everyone’s dying to see how it will turn out. My contact in Paris says Travis will be at the wedding, and she’ll be with him. I’ve simply got to be there and get close enough to see them together. Plus, of course, all the others.’

‘What others?’

‘The rest of the Falcon family. The father is Amos Falcon, a big noise in financial circles. He’ll almost certainly be in Paris. And so will his other sons.’

‘How many has he got?’

‘Five. By four different mothers. There’s Darius, who’s English and also a big noise financially. His brother Jackson, who does those television documentaries. Marcel, who’s French, Travis, who’s American, and Leonid, Russian.’

‘All those nationalities? Amos Falcon gets around, doesn’t he?’

‘He did once. He’s in his seventies now and he lives in Monaco with his most recent wife. He seems respectable but I’ll bet he isn’t really. The leopard doesn’t change its spots.’

‘But the place will be bulging with press. Why bother when you’ll just be one of a crowd?’

She gave him an ironic glance which told him exactly what he could do with that idea. Perdita was never simply one of a crowd.

‘They’re not marrying in a public church,’ she said. ‘La Couronne has its own chapel, so they can control who gets in. The press will be kept at a distance. That’s why I need to be in the hotel as a guest. If I play my cards right I might even get invited to the wedding.’

Jim gave a hoot of laughter. ‘In your dreams! You might contrive to sneak in, but even you couldn’t manage to get invited.’

‘Wanna bet?’

‘No, I guess you could do it if anyone could. You know, one day you’ll meet a guy who’ll play you at your own game.’

‘Nobody knows what my game is,’ she pointed out, all wide-eyed innocence.

‘He will. Then you’ll be sorry.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe I’ll end up enjoying it. The more of a battle there is, the more fun it is to win.’

She’d said everything, Jim realised. Whoever could beat her at her own game, it wouldn’t be himself. She’d told him that, kindly but finally.

‘What time’s your flight?’ he asked.

‘Three hours. I was just about to call a taxi.’

‘No need. I’ll take you to the airport.’

‘Oh Jim, that’s so nice of you. How can any man be so sweet and forgiving?’

Good question, he thought wryly. Despite being aggrieved at how little he mattered to her, he still found himself eager to serve her.

But that was Perdita, he sighed. She could have that effect on a man.

He carried her bags down to the car, made sure she was comfortable, and headed for the airport.

‘If this wedding’s being kept under wraps, how come you found out?’ he asked when they were halfway there.

‘I got a tip-off from someone who owed me a favour.’

He should have known. That too was Perdita’s way. There was always someone who owed her a favour.

At the airport he saw her to Check-In and was rewarded by a peck on the cheek.

‘Thank you, Jim dear. I’ll be in touch.’

But she didn’t say when, he noticed. She would have forgotten him by the time she was in her seat.

Here he did Perdita an injustice. She was sorry to have hurt Jim, however unintentionally, and thought about him until the plane was in the air. Only then did she turn her mind to the job she was about to do.

It was nearly midnight when they reached Charles de Gaulle Airport, and she emerged from Customs to find a middle-aged woman waiting for her. This was Hortense, a French businesswoman with extensive contacts. She and Perdita liked each other, and also had a flourishing business relationship based on the exchange of favours. After enthusiastic greetings they headed for the car.

‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Perdita said as they made their way towards Paris.

‘No need. I owed you. It was just a lucky chance. The company I work for is organising the wedding.’

‘Why is it all being done so hurriedly?’

‘Rumour says Marcel is afraid of losing Cassie. When she agreed to marry him he moved fast before she could change her mind.’

‘What about the family?’

‘They should be here tomorrow. Travis from Los Angeles, Darius and Jackson from England. Perhaps even Leonid from Russia. He’s got a room booked but nobody’s sure if he’ll actually come. People who know him say he’s hard as nails. You cross him at your peril.’

‘Hmm. He sounds interesting.’

‘Dangerous. If you meet him, be careful.’

‘But why? Where’s the fun in being careful?’

‘Must everything in life be fun?’

‘Of course. Fun is good. Fun is creative. Fun puts you in control and catches him on the wrong foot.’

‘Him? Who him?’

‘Any him.’

‘And that’s important?’

‘Oh yes,’ Perdita said with a little smile. ‘That’s very important.’

Hortense made no reply. It could be hard to know just how much of Perdita’s lively speech she actually meant.

They had reached the most expensive part of Paris, and soon a magnificent building reared up before them.

‘There’s La Couronne,’ Hortense said.

‘Wow! It looks a fabulous place.’

‘It was once the home of aristocrats, but the family was wiped out in the French Revolution, and the building went into decline until Marcel bought it. He specialises in grandiose hotels in big cities all over the world, and La Couronne is the best.’

When she’d checked in Hortense accompanied her upstairs to her room, whose luxury made Perdita nod appreciatively.

‘It may strain your budget,’ Hortense said, ‘but it was the last one available, and it’s on the same corridor as the Falcons.’

‘That’s the bit that matters,’ Perdita agreed.

They ordered a meal from Room Service and sat munching contentedly.

‘Was it difficult to dash off at a moment’s notice?’ Hortense asked.

‘Well, one person wasn’t too happy,’ Perdita admitted, and told her about Jim.

‘But in another way it was handy,’ she added. ‘I was due to go to my parents tomorrow, for a party to celebrate my cousin Sally’s engagement, and it’s probably better that I won’t be there.’

‘Your parents are academics, aren’t they? Big names in the world of learning, so I’ve heard.’

It was true that Professor Angus Hanson was an imposing man whose learning and reputation struck awe into the hearts of those who knew him. His family were equally erudite, occupying high positions in research and education. All except Perdita, his youngest child.

‘They’ve always seen me as the black sheep,’ she told Hortense. ‘Frivolous, foolish, not caring about serious matters.’

‘Why is it better that you’re not there?’

‘Sally’s fiancé is a man I used to know, about three years ago. It seemed to be going well for us, but then I got the chance of a big scoop. Someone let slip something. I followed it up and … well, it did me a lot of good professionally.’

‘Ah yes, I remember hearing about that. It made your reputation as a journalist.’

‘But Thomas was horrified. He thought it was all terribly vulgar, and wanted me to abandon my career. When I wouldn’t … well …’ She shrugged.

‘If he’d loved you he wouldn’t have broken your heart for a reason like that,’ Hortense said, shocked.

‘Who said my heart was broken?’ Perdita demanded indignantly. ‘With all the chances that were opening up for me, I had other things to think of. Besides, I realised that he didn’t love me. He’s an academic, and he wanted to join my family for the sake of their standing.’

‘So he courted your cousin instead. Yes, it’s better you’re not at their engagement party.’

Perdita gave a wry smile. ‘The only thing academic about me is my name. Apparently when my father discovered that my mother was pregnant yet again he groaned, “Well, I’ll go to perdition!”’

‘And perdition means hell, doesn’t it?’ Hortense chuckled.

‘That’s right. He really wasn’t keen on another child. After that, Perdita became the family nickname for me.’

‘But it’s not really your name, is it?’ Hortense said. ‘You write your features as Perdita Davis, but I noticed you checked in as Erica Hanson.’

‘Yes, that’s my real name, but I only use it for official stuff. Erica Hanson keeps her bank account in order, pays her taxes on time and generally behaves properly. Perdita Davis is as foolish and frivolous as a scholarly family ever produced.’

She said this with an air of pleasure, even pride.

‘Where does the Davis name come from?’

‘The family more or less ordered me not to use Hanson in case people connected me with them and they died of shame,’ Perdita said ironically. ‘I just plucked Davis out of the air.’

‘So they can deny all knowledge of you,’ Hortense said, outraged. ‘That’s pretty nasty of them.’

‘They have a serious reputation to keep up,’ Perdita said, shrugging. ‘You can’t really blame them.’

‘I can. Reputation nothing! You’re a big success but they treat you like an outcast.’

‘Oh, I’m not melodramatic about it,’ Perdita said. ‘It’s not really important.’

She spoke lightly to hide the fact that Hortense had hit a nerve. In truth she cared more for her family’s attitude than she would admit, and her friend’s indignation on her behalf warmed her heart.

‘They’re probably jealous that you’re making your fortune out of it,’ Hortense observed. ‘Your scoops are fast taking you to the top. Though, let’s face it, you do sometimes sail a bit close to the edge.’

‘I did at one time,’ Perdita agreed. ‘But recently I’ve been a bit less “adventurous”. I don’t break quite so many rules now. I’m even getting a bit respectable.’

‘You?’

Perdita shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s my academic background coming out at last. Serious, respectable, upright. How about that?’

‘What brought this about?’

‘There was a big commotion recently. Have you ever heard of—?’ She named a journalist so notorious that his name was known over many countries.

‘Yes, wasn’t he the one who tricked that woman into talking to him, and it all ended in tragedy?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But surely it had nothing to do with you?’

‘No, I wasn’t involved in any way. But I met him once a few years back, and vaguely admired his tricksy methods. Not now, though. Let’s say I’ve grown up a bit, and it made me think about the road I was travelling.’

‘Does that mean strait-laced Erica has taken over completely, and cheeky Perdita no longer exists?’

‘Not at all. Perdita’s still there, still maddening, still taking chances. But these days she’s a bit more careful about how she might affect other people.’

Hortense chuckled. ‘Serve you right if you met the man of your dreams and had to choose between your two selves. That would teach you a lesson.’

‘I don’t have any dreams,’ Perdita said cheekily. ‘My heart’s never been broken and it’s never going to be. I’ve got too many other things to do.’

‘Have you no sense of romance?’ Hortense demanded indignantly. ‘Here you are in Paris, the most romantic city in the world, and you’re not entranced the way any other woman would be.’

‘When I get my scoop I’ll be entranced.’

‘I know better than to argue with that. I’ll be off to my own room, we have a busy day tomorrow. Goodnight. See you at breakfast.’

When she was alone Perdita went to the window, looking out to where the Eiffel Tower glowed in the distance. Everything in her surroundings was glamorous, and that was just how she liked it. It emphasised the life she wanted and the way she liked to see herself.

She’d told Hortense that her heart had never been broken and it was almost true.

After the riotous success that had made Thomas run from her she’d gone from strength to strength. The life of a freelancer suited her perfectly because it made her the one in charge, choosing her own targets.

Then she’d met Frank, a photographer. They’d worked as a team and she’d fallen in love with him, although these days she denied, it even to herself. But he’d betrayed her, using her talents to get close to a notorious story, then selling his pictures to another journalist who could do more for his career.

After that she’d decided to work alone, taking her own pictures. She’d learned a lot of technique from Frank, so who needed photographers? If it came to that, who needed men?

‘Maybe there’s something wrong with me, always putting the job first,’ she mused. ‘But that’s the way I am. It’s not my fault if I like fun. And fun likes me. Ah well! Time for bed.’

Next morning Hortense dropped in to Perdita’s room just as she was getting up.

‘Sorry to arrive so early,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got a busy day ahead preparing for this wedding.’

‘No problem.’ Perdita lifted the phone. ‘Let’s have some breakfast.’

While they waited for the food to arrive she took a shower, then sat in a bathrobe to eat, seizing the chance to ask more about the Falcon family.

‘I don’t really know anything about Leonid,’ she said. ‘He isn’t as easy to research as the others.’

‘True. His real name isn’t even Falcon. He’s actually Leonid Tsarev. It’s only when he’s over here with his brothers that he’s called Falcon as a courtesy. All anyone really knows about him is that he’s an incredibly successful business magnate—they call them oligarchs in Russia, don’t they? I’ve got friends in Moscow who say he doesn’t seem to have a very interesting private life. All work and money, no time for pleasure. At least, not the kind of pleasure the world hears about, if you know what I mean. Grim and gruff.’

‘They can be interesting too,’ Perdita mused. ‘Now, what am I going to wear today?’

‘Let’s look,’ Hortense said, opening the wardrobe. ‘Hey, what lovely clothes you’ve got. You must have a very rich boyfriend.’

‘Well, I don’t. I pay for my own clothes.’

‘You must be making a fortune.’

‘I do all right, but I don’t usually buy such expensive things. I splashed out a bit to come to this hotel. I wanted to look as if I fit in with the millionaires.’

‘You’ll do that all right.’ She pulled down pair of luxurious stretch jeans. ‘You can actually get into these?’

‘Sure.’

Hortense held them up against her plump figure, and sighed. ‘You know, I could murder you for being slim enough for these. Hey ho!’ She tossed them onto the bed. ‘Put them on.’

‘But do I want to wear them right now?’ Perdita mused. ‘I’d like to give a first impression of severe, virtuous modesty. Maybe even a bit dull.’

‘In your dreams! Listen, if a kindly fate has made you slim enough to wear these, count your blessings. Who knows how long those blessings will last? Right, now I’ve got to be going. And remember, if we happen to bump into each other—’

‘We’ve never met before,’ Perdita vowed.

‘Thanks. If they knew I’d been in touch with a journalist I’d be in trouble. They’re very sniffy about that. Bye.’

When she was alone Perdita eyed several garments, before deciding that she would, after all, wear the snug-fitting jeans. In contrast with their provocation she chose a loose blouse of white silk, that came modestly halfway down her thighs. It was good to be elegant and expensive, but nobody could accuse her of flaunting herself.

She headed out and began wandering around the hotel, studying, listening, taking photographs with her discreet camera, whose tiny size belied its power. Gradually she saw members of the Falcon family, but as yet no sign of the one she wanted.

Then, as she came to the top of a grand staircase, she paused and drew back, wondering if she could really see what she thought she could. At the foot of the stairs was a man whose height, dark hair and handsome features suggested that her search was over. Travis Falcon. This must be him. She was too far away to make out details, but what she could see was surely Travis.

There was no sign of the woman he was supposed to be bringing with him. That could be helpful, if only she could get him alone for a while.

But how to make him notice her, chat for a moment? It wouldn’t be easy.

‘But I think I see a way,’ she murmured.

She had perfected a technique for this kind of occasion. Moving carefully, she could appear to slip on the stairs, creating just enough commotion to attract attention. Quietly she crept down the stairs, not to alert him. Only when she was three steps up did she seem to collapse, rolling down to the bottom.

At once she knew that she’d done something wrong. Instead of the easy landing she’d planned, she felt a sharp pain go through her ankle as her foot twisted beneath her. Wildly she grabbed at the banister and came to a sudden halt at his feet, so that he nearly tripped over her.

He made an explosive sound and dropped to his knees, reaching out both hands to support her, making an explosive sound, then demanding in French, ‘Que le diable? Êtes-vous blessé?’

‘I don’t understand—’ she gasped.

‘Are you hurt?’ he repeated in English. ‘I … I’m not sure,’ she gasped, wincing from the pain. ‘My ankle—’

‘Have you twisted it?’

‘I think so—aaah!’

Still holding one of her hands, he put his other arm about her and drew her to her feet.

‘Try to put your weight on it,’ he said. ‘Just very gently.’

She tried but gave up at once. She would have fallen but for the strength of his arm about her waist, keeping her safe. She raised her eyes to his face.

It was the wrong face.

This man looked enough like Travis Falcon to be mistaken for him at a distance, but up close there was no chance.

‘Oh!’ she gasped before she could stop herself.

‘I think you need a doctor,’ he said in an accented voice that confirmed her fears. Travis was American. This man came from Eastern Europe.

‘No, I can manage,’ she said hastily.

‘I don’t think you can. Let’s collect your things before you lose them.’

She supported herself by clinging to the banister while he scooped up her purse and several papers that had fallen onto the floor from her bag.

‘One of them’s your passport,’ he said. ‘You should take better care of it. What room are you in?’ She gave him the number. ‘Right, put your arms around my neck.’

She did so and he reached down to lift her very slowly and carefully.

‘Is that all right?’ he asked. ‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘Then let’s go.’

Turning, he climbed the stairs to the top, then headed down the corridor to her room. She reached into her bag for the key and he carried her inside, laying her down gently on the bed.

‘All right?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Yes, I’m not really hurt.’

‘We’ll see what the doctor says about that.’ Without seeking her consent, he took up the phone and called the management.

‘I need a doctor here at once to look after a woman who tripped on the stairs.’ He gave the room number and hung up. ‘They’re sending someone at once.’

‘You’re very kind.’

‘Not at all. I’m really trying to ease my own mind. When I heard you behind me I turned sharply, and I hate to think I caused you to trip.’

She knew a moment’s self-reproach that he should blame himself for the fall she had contrived. But there was something pleasant and comforting about his determination to care for her. She’d always prided herself on being self-sufficient, independent. In her job these were necessary virtues. But it was nice to be looked after, just for a few minutes.

‘While we wait for the doctor I will order you a hot drink,’ he said. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

‘Tea, thank you.’

When he’d telephoned the order he turned back to Perdita and studied her closely, frowning, almost scowling. Now she saw that he was mopping the front of his suit where something had been spilled.

‘Did I do that?’ she asked.

‘Unfortunately I happened to be carrying a small glass of wine. Don’t worry. Accidents happen. It’s not as if you fell on purpose.’

‘No,’ she said with a twinge of guilt. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you.’

‘It seems to be me who troubled you. Why did the sight of me give you such a nasty shock?’ He gave her a flinty stare. ‘Let me guess. You thought I was Travis, didn’t you?’

‘I … no, I … it wasn’t … I don’t understand. Travis?’

‘Travis Falcon.’

‘Oh yes,’ she said vaguely. ‘He’s on television, isn’t he?’

‘That’s putting it mildly. Apparently we look very much alike. People often think they’re meeting him and are disappointed when it’s only me.’

‘How rude of them! Are you related?’

‘He’s my half-brother. My name is Leonid Tsarev.’

He extended his hand and she shook it, trying to control her whirling thoughts. She was shocked at herself. She, who prided herself on being in command of every situation, was suddenly reduced to stammering confusion.

‘How … how do you do?’ she murmured.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I COULD ASK you the same,’ he said wryly, ‘but it’s a silly question. Neither of us seems to be doing very well since meeting the other.’

‘I guess you’re right. Ouch!’ She reached down to her ankle, which had hurt as she moved it.

‘The doctor will be here soon,’ he said. ‘He can make a full assessment.’

‘I hope so,’ she said, rubbing the spot, but making little impact because the material of the jeans was in the way.

‘You’ll need to take them off so that the doctor can get to it,’ Leonid said. ‘Ah, there’s someone at the door.’

While he went to the door she started to undress, meaning to pull the sheets over her, to preserve modesty. First she removed her right shoe, then tried to remove her left, but this was the injured foot and pulling at the shoe was intensely painful. She was still floundering when he turned back into the room, carrying a tray of tea.

‘Are you having trouble?’ he asked, quickly setting down the tray.

‘Yes, this shoe won’t move—ow!’

He set down the tray. ‘Let me help you. Just lie there and I’ll do the work.’

He eased the shoe off as gently as possible. It hurt, but not unbearably, and at last both feet were free.

‘Thank you,’ she said, lying back.

He tried to study the damaged foot, frowning. ‘It’s hard to see while your jeans are covering it.’

‘Yes, I really will have to take them off,’ she sighed.

‘Let me help you. It’s all right, I won’t look. This is strictly medical.’

‘Thanks.’

She opened the buttons at the waist, unzipped the front and began to ease the material down. At first she managed but there came a point when he had to take over. Perdita took a deep breath, raised her hips slightly, balancing on her one good foot, while he drew the jeans towards him, gradually revealing beautiful, slender hips clad in delicate silken panties. But these he didn’t see. His head was ostentatiously turned away.

A little further, a bit more—then it was time to pull the jeans over the injured foot.

‘Sorry if I hurt you,’ he said as she gasped.

‘Not your fault.’

‘Is anyone staying here with you, anyone I can contact?’

‘No.’

‘You’re alone? There’s nobody to look after you?’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ she assured him.

He looked cynical. ‘You can lie there and say that, after what’s just happened?’

His manner was kind but authoritative, with a touch of ‘laying down the law’ and she was provoked to say, ‘What about you? Is someone looking after you?’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ he echoed her.

‘Well, you know the answer to that.’

‘Yes, Miss Hanson, I guess I do.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘I saw it in your passport when I picked it up off the floor. You are Erica Hanson, and you’re English.’

‘I guess my passport told you that too.’

‘Plus your accent, and the fact that you chose tea.’

‘Ah yes, that’s a dead giveaway, isn’t it?’

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the doctor, a kindly middle-aged man.

‘How much does it hurt?’ he asked, feeling the ankle. ‘Bearable,’ Perdita said.

‘Good. It’s a bit twisted. There’s no serious damage but it still needs some rest.’

‘You mean I’m going to be confined up here?’ she asked, aghast.

‘Not necessarily. The hotel can let you have a wheelchair for a day or so. I’ll arrange it, plus a walking stick for when you need to leave the wheelchair.’

He bandaged the ankle and gave her some painkillers, then spoke to Leonid. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow. Can you manage to look after her until then?’

‘But—’ Perdita began to protest but was silenced by a gesture from Leonid.

‘Leave it to me,’ he told the doctor.

He saw the man to the door and returned. Perdita was still lying down, now with the duvet modestly pulled up over her hips. It had seemed the right thing to do, although this man had a mysterious quality that didn’t make her feel at all modest.

‘I can’t let you look after me,’ she protested.

‘You don’t have any choice,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve decided.’

‘Don’t I get a say?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

His manner was slightly too hard to be called warm but it wasn’t unkind. She guessed he wasn’t a patient man, but neither was he entirely unsympathetic. His eyes were dark, shadowed, hinting at fascinating depths full of mysteries. But also hinting at something else, lighter, possibly interesting.

And he was the brother of the man she’d come here to study, she reminded herself. Professional efficiency demanded that she prolong this moment.

‘That’s kind of you,’ she said softly. ‘Especially after I gave you so much trouble.’

He made a sound that was half a sigh, half a groan.

‘Look, I’d better tell you, I’m not just being nice. There’s something in this for me too.’

So the attraction wasn’t just on her side, she thought. She held her breath, longing for him to say the next words, and slightly shocked at herself for wanting it so much.

‘It’s like this,’ he said.

But before he could speak there was a knock at the door. He scowled. ‘Are you expecting anyone?’

‘Nobody,’ she said.

He opened the door, revealing an attractive young woman.

‘Sorry to barge in,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got a message for you, and I saw you carrying a woman upstairs.’ She glanced at Perdita, lying in bed. ‘I haven’t … er … interrupted anything, have I?’

‘You have,’ he said ironically. ‘But not what you’re thinking.’ He pulled her close for a kiss on the cheek.

Perdita sighed. So that was that.

So much for false hopes.

The young woman was in her twenties, well-dressed and modestly attractive without being a great beauty.

‘Where did you vanish to?’ she asked Leonid. ‘We were all of us about to go to the chapel but suddenly you weren’t there.’

‘Sorry, Freya, I remembered something I had to do.’

‘Are you going to introduce me?’ she said, indicating Perdita.

‘Freya, this is Erica Hanson. Erica, this is my stepsister. My father is married to her mother.’

‘And we bicker like a real brother and sister,’ Freya said cheerfully. ‘Hello, Erica. It’s nice to meet you. Very nice indeed.’

She said the last words with a mysterious significance, and a glance at Leonid that was laden with meaning.

‘I’m off to the chapel,’ she said. ‘They’ll be starting the rehearsal soon. Are you coming, Leonid?’

‘I’m not sure for the moment—’

‘Don’t worry, Amos won’t be there. He hasn’t arrived yet. Anyway, I’ll see you later at the family gathering. Erica, I look forward to seeing you there.’

‘Well, I don’t know if I—’

‘Of course you do. Bye for now.’

She hurried out, but not without turning in the doorway and giving them a thumbs up sign.

‘What was that all about?’ Perdita asked.

‘I’m afraid it means that my family is trying to take you over for its own purpose,’ he said ruefully. ‘Freya has a problem. My father has five sons but no daughter, and he wants to see Freya married off to one of us so that she’ll be more than just his stepdaughter. But he’s rapidly running out of sons. Darius is already married, Marcel is marrying Cassie tomorrow, and that just leaves three of us.

‘We all like Freya but we don’t fancy being dictated to. Luckily she doesn’t like it either. That’s why she was so glad to meet you. She sees you as protection.’

‘You mean if your father thinks—?’

‘That we’re a couple, yes.’

‘That will make Freya safe?’

‘Safe from me. There’s still Jackson and Travis.’

‘But isn’t Travis—? I mean there’s been a lot in the press about his latest love. Surely she’ll be here with him?’

‘I don’t know. Probably, but nobody’s really sure about them. We’re not even certain that Amos is coming. He’s annoyed with Marcel for daring to choose his own wife. But if he does turn up we’re all in danger, Jackson, Travis—and me. Unless—’ he looked at her with meaning ‘—unless some guardian angel will be my shield.’

Perdita’s lips twitched. ‘You mean stand between you and your father and divert his scheming to your brothers?’

‘Exactly. I think Freya rather misunderstood the fact that she saw you in bed.’

‘But don’t you have a girlfriend back wherever you live? From your accent you sound as if you come from a great distance.’

‘I live in Moscow.’

‘How exciting. And I’m sure you must know a lot of women.’

She had a sense that the question displeased him. His voice was edgy as he replied, ‘I have many acquaintances but none that I’m close to in that sense. Otherwise I’d have brought someone with me. Are you attached to anyone?’

‘No, I’m a free agent too.’

‘So you’ll stick with me while we’re here, this evening and at the wedding? I’ll look after you.’ He gave a wry grin and indicated the damp patch on his suit. ‘After all, you owe me a favour.’

‘Yes, I suppose I do.’

‘So you’ll be my “shield and protector”?’

She thought no man had ever looked less in need of protection. There was a formidable air about him that contrasted oddly with the flickers of warmth and humour that had begun to appear in his manner.

‘Unless you’ve got other plans,’ he added.

‘Hardly,’ she said, pointing at her foot.

‘No, you’re going to need me to act as nurse and carer,’ he said with a hint of mischievous triumph. ‘In fact this suits me so well that you might almost think I caused your fall to suit my own purposes.’

This came uncomfortably near to her own actions, but by now her spirits were rising and she was able to say theatrically, ‘Oh, surely not! You could never be so scheming and dishonest.’

He grinned. ‘Believe it or not, there are people in the world who’d descend to that.’

‘I’m shocked! Shocked!’

‘Naturally. You and I rise above such scandalous behaviour.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Unless, of course, it’s really necessary to push the boundaries.’

‘There really are people who sink so low? You must tell me about them.’

‘I will. We’ll discuss it over dinner tonight. I promise you’ll have a good time.’

That depended on how you defined a good time, she thought. So far she was achieving everything she’d wanted—tricking her way into the inner circle, an invitation to the wedding. That wasn’t a good time. That was a wonderful, fantastic time.

And as if to underline her good fortune, she had the company of a man whose brooding good looks might have been designed to make everything thrilling. Even his slightly fierce manner, instead of being off-putting, was merely intriguing.

‘You don’t answer,’ he said. ‘Are you afraid that I’m going to take advantage? Don’t be.’ His wolfish eyes gleamed, but his smile softened the look. ‘Even if you weren’t poorly, this is strictly a performance to convince my father. Just be at my side, and let me put my arm around you so that he can see. But when we’re alone you won’t have to fight me off, I promise.’

‘That makes me feel a lot better,’ she said untruthfully.

‘Then you’ll do it?’

She smiled at him. She had the sudden feeling of standing at the edge of a high cliff. One false step meant danger, but danger didn’t frighten her. Danger was like fun: exhilarating.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

‘Splendid. I’ll arrange for the hotel to send you a maid to help you dress, and I’ll collect you at six-thirty. And … er … if you’d like to buy a new dress—at my expense—’

‘Certainly not!’ she said primly. ‘I can dress myself appropriately.’

‘Of course you can, but—’

‘And I prefer to dress myself,’ she added with a perfectly calculated amount of injured virtue. ‘I hope you understand that.’

‘Perfectly. Please don’t be insulted. I was merely showing my gratitude.’

‘But I’m doing this because I want to,’ she assured him. ‘We agreed that I owe you a favour, since I damaged your suit.’

‘Since you—? Oh yes.’ He looked down at himself, almost as though remembering for the first time. ‘I must go and change. Goodbye. I’ll see you later.’

As the door closed behind him she breathed out. He was doing her a much bigger favour than he could imagine, but he mustn’t be allowed to suspect. She knew a twinge of guilt, but then determinedly concentrated on the business at hand. Success. That was what really mattered.

The wheelchair arrived an hour later, followed by the maid Leonid had arranged. She assisted Perdita into a dark blue cocktail dress that emphasised her slender figure, while having long sleeves and a high neck. It was just a pity, she thought, that the wheelchair hid most of this. The sooner she was on her feet and able to display her advantages the better.

So much seemed to have happened at the same time. Even through the pain and confusion of her fall she had still been intensely aware of Leonid as a man. She could still feel his arms about her body as he carried her up the stairs, as easily as if she weighed nothing.

The accident restricted her, yet gave her his company as nothing else could have done. It would take time before she knew how she felt about that. But she was smiling at herself in the mirror.

She tried her blonde hair curled high and elaborately, then loose and flowing about her shoulders. Finally she settled for flowing, liking the natural air it gave her.

At precisely six-thirty there was a knock on her door. Leonid was there, handsome in white dinner jacket and bow tie.

‘You look almost perfect,’ he said seriously.

‘Almost?’

‘There’s just one little thing missing.’ He opened a tiny box, revealing a pair of pearl earrings. ‘Please accept these and don’t be offended. It’s just my way of thanking you.’

‘I’m not at all offended,’ she said truthfully. ‘They’re so lovely.’

‘Let me put them on for you.’

Gently he moved back her hair and fixed the earrings. Perdita watch him in the mirror, trying not to be too conscious of his fingers brushing against her skin.

‘Now I must pin my hair up,’ she said. ‘Otherwise nobody will see them.’

‘Does anyone else need to see them?’ he asked softly. ‘We know they’re there.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘We know.’

He studied her for a moment before letting her hair fall back.

‘Beautiful,’ he said, taking up his position behind the wheelchair. ‘Shall we go?’

As he wheeled her along the corridor she asked, ‘Has your father arrived yet?’

‘No, but Freya’s had a call to say he’s on his way.’

Suddenly he paused, looking down the wide staircase, the same one on which she had staged her ‘fall’. Below them, in the hall, Perdita could see several young men.

‘My brothers,’ Leonid said. ‘At least, some of them.’

Just then one of the men glanced up, nudged another and pointed.

‘That’s Darius and his wife, Harriet,’ Leonid said. ‘Let’s make a grand entrance. The elevator’s along here.’

As they descended he said, ‘By the way, why are you in a wheelchair?’

‘What?’ she asked, aghast. ‘You know why. You were there—’

‘I mean what do we tell them?’ he explained. ‘They’re bound to ask about you and we need to say the same thing.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’

‘If you’re going to fool people you have to plan your story in advance,’ he said, amused. ‘But I guess you’re not a very experienced liar, are you?’

‘Am I not?’ she asked wildly.

‘No, otherwise you’d have known that you have to set it up first.’

In fact she knew exactly this. The shock of being mistaken for a naïve newcomer to the art of presentation sent her dizzy.

‘I guess I’m just stupid,’ she hazarded vaguely.

‘No, you’re an innocent. You’ve never learned the art of scheming. Don’t worry, I’m dishonest enough for both of us.’

‘Phew! That’s a relief. As for the wheelchair, I think we’d better stick to the truth. The hotel people know that I fell downstairs today.’

‘You’re right,’ he said gravely. ‘Rely on the truth whenever you can. It saves awkwardness later.’

She glanced up to see how seriously he was speaking, and found him looking down at her with a look of wicked conspiracy that sent a sweet tremor through her.

‘Is that experience talking?’ she asked.

‘What do you think?’

‘I think—oh, we’re here.’

The doors were opening. And there was his family gazing at the picture they made. Freya must have spread the word about finding them together, but the wheelchair took everyone by surprise. Perdita guessed that none of them would have expected to see Leonid tamely doing such a duty. They all regarded her with friendly curiosity and pressed forward to meet her as he wheeled her out.

‘This is Darius, my eldest brother,’ Leonid said. ‘And this is Marcel, who owns the tatty little shack we’re standing in.’

Everyone laughed at this way of describing the luxurious hotel, and Perdita responded, ‘I have to say that as tatty little shacks go this is the nicest I’ve ever seen.’

This brought another laugh. She was becoming a success. She won more approval when she greeted Jackson with admiring remarks about his latest television programme.

A couple had just appeared, hand in hand.

‘Travis,’ Leonid called. ‘Over here.’

The two brothers embraced and made the introductions.

‘This is Charlene,’ Travis said.

‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Leonid told her.

‘Don’t believe all that stuff in the press,’ Travis said. ‘Nobody knows what she’s really like—except me.’

He said this with a warm look that underlined his real meaning. Charlene looked down, blushing slightly.

‘And this is Erica,’ Leonid told them.

‘Whom you’ve been keeping a big secret,’ Travis said.

‘We don’t all live in the spotlight,’ Leonid told him humorously. ‘Now, let’s go and eat.’

The family were to dine, not in the main restaurant, but in a smaller room nearby that was usually hired for private occasions. Tonight Marcel had commandeered it for himself and his family. Perdita found herself sitting next to him on one side, with Leonid on the other.

Leonid consulted her about the menu. Bearing in mind that they were putting on an act, she gave him all her attention, gazing at his face and responding fervently. When the food was served she faded gracefully into the background so that he could concentrate on his family, thus giving her the chance to study the scene unobserved.

Facing her across the table were Travis and Charlene, who seemed happily absorbed in each other. If their relationship really was a PR con trick they were hiding it splendidly.

‘You’re doing well,’ Leonid said in her ear.

‘Thank you. I’m too nervous to say anything very much.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Somehow I can’t quite see you as nervous. A woman with your looks never has to worry about her reception. What are you professionally? No, let me guess. A model?’

‘What do you think?’ she teased.

He looked at her assessingly.

‘All right. I think you’re undercover, pretending to be an ordinary guest but actually doing something else.’

Her heart nearly stopped. ‘Whatever can you mean by that?’

‘You’re a hotel inspector, checking this place out. Perhaps I ought to warn Marcel about you.’

‘Try it. See how you look when he finds out it’s not true.’

‘All right, I give in. But I’ll get it. Just give me a little time and we’ll see who wins.’

His smile was charming with a glint of steel, and gave her a faint twinge of guilt at the way she’d wriggled out of the situation. She would never have told him an outright lie, but neither could she tell him the truth at this moment. So avoiding the question was her only option.

I’ll tell him later, she promised herself. Then I can explain, make him understand. But not just yet.

To her relief, Jackson was indulging in some foolery, enabling her to laugh and divert Leonid’s attention.

As the meal drew to a close the diners began to rise and drift out to the balcony overlooking the River Seine. Leonid and Travis stood a little apart, deep in conversation.

‘Look at them,’ Charlene said at Perdita’s elbow. ‘So like each other. It comes as a shock to see them together.’

‘He told me people often mistake him for Travis, until they get near enough to see the differences,’ Perdita said.

‘Yes, and those differences aren’t really physical. They come from inside. There’s a bit of Travis that’s a natural clown. He loves laughing at people. He even likes people laughing at him as long as that’s what he meant them to do. But Leonid has a dark, gloomy side that’s mostly the one he lets people see. At least, that’s what Travis has told me. I’ve only just met him but I can see what Travis means.’

Perdita nodded. Even a brief acquaintance with Leonid was enough for her to have sensed his dark side, and know that it was always there, overshadowing even his brief lighter moments.

‘But I dare say you know him better,’ Charlene said.

‘Some people are easier to know than others,’ Perdita hedged. ‘I’m sure you’ve found that out too. As you say, Travis is a laugh a minute, but there must be more to him than that.’

‘Oh yes.’ Charlene nodded. ‘When the press are studying you as closely as they do with him, you have to keep a part of yourself that’s just for you and your friends. Hello, what’s happened?’

A frisson had gone around the table. Heads turned to regard the tall white-haired man standing at the door.

Amos Falcon, Perdita thought, recognising him from pictures she’d seen in the press. Research had told her far more about him than Leonid realised, how he’d been married several times but seemed incapable of being faithful to any woman.

One by one his sons went to greet him. Darius with an extended hand, Jackson with an embrace, Marcel with a thump on the shoulder. Only Travis and Leonid held back, approaching him slowly and greeting him with restraint.

Perdita saw the way Amos surveyed his sons, and the way they surveyed him. There might be some affection in this family, but there was also a lot of suspicion. She had an instinctive feeling that the young men had inherited enough of their father’s nature to be his combatants as well as his sons.

Leonid brought Amos across the room.

‘Father, I want you to meet Erica,’ he said.

There was the same look of surveillance from Amos, studying her, asking himself if she was a threat to what he wanted.

You bet I’m a threat, she thought. Because I like getting my own way too.

Amos brought his wife forward. There were more introductions. Champagne was served. The atmosphere was convivial. Perdita tried to stay modestly in the background, but soon Amos bore down on her.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he declared formally. ‘Leonid hasn’t mentioned you before. How do you come to know each other?’

She drew in a swift breath. She and Leonid had prepared their story as far as the wheelchair was concerned, but they hadn’t had time to cover this. Feeling his tension, she thought fast.

‘I took a holiday in Moscow,’ she said. ‘I love the city but I got into a silly muddle, and Leonid rescued me.’

‘How did that happen?’ Amos asked.

‘I really couldn’t tell you,’ she said, improvising fast. ‘I don’t speak the language so I didn’t understand much of what was happening. I remember I lost my way and took the wrong street but—’ She gave Leonid an urgent look.

‘It was a lucky chance I happened to be there,’ he said quickly. ‘After that, I had to keep an eye on her in case she was lost again. And we just … got on well.’

‘So when you heard about this wedding you took the chance to see each other?’ Amos asked.

Luckily Janine intervened, patting her husband’s arm and saying,

‘Don’t interrogate them, darling. This is a party, not a court case.’ She smiled at Perdita. ‘See you later.’

She led her husband firmly away.

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