Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate

‘That is irrelevant. What matters now is that we prevent April Fotherington from unearthing what happened in Barcelona.’

A memory of that night, the sheer magic of their connection, sneaked up from nowhere and blindsided him with a bombardment of images. He rubbed a hand over his face, swiped them away. Their physical connection had been based on illusion, and as such its worth was zero. In any currency.

‘To do that I need to know why you and the Prince broke up.’

‘Give me a minute.’

For the first time since he’d entered Daniel looked round the room. It was impeccably furnished, and good taste abounded—neutral cream walls a backdrop for a fourth wall of elegant patterned wallpaper with a splash of colour in the bird-themed print. Pictures dotted the walls in a mix of modern and retro, and the simply striped upholstered furniture looked both comfortable and stylish.

Yet something grated on his nerves; it was the knowledge that the lounge looked exactly as Lady Kaitlin’s lounge should look—ready for a photographer to descend at any moment. The fact that there wasn’t so much as a hint of ‘Lynette’ to be seen.

Kaitlin gestured to the armchair opposite. ‘OK. I’ll bite. The Prince and I split up because I told him about Barcelona.’

Daniel stared at her, wondered if perhaps his ears had ceased to function, whether his brain had somehow rewritten the signals and garbled her words. ‘You told Prince Frederick about Barcelona. Why?’

‘It wasn’t fair to put his good name at stake without his knowledge. I couldn’t place trust in your discretion on Frederick’s behalf—he needed to make that decision for himself.’

A mix of emotion hit him—chagrin at her lack of faith, and admiration and surprise at a level of principle he hadn’t expected from the woman who had duped him...a woman set on a marriage made of glitter and lined with gold.

‘So he decided to break up with you because of the potential scandal or because he felt angry at the thought of you with another man?’

Weariness made her shoulders slump for a fraction of a heartbeat and then she straightened, dropped her hands to her lap from their mid-rise to a defensive fold.

‘The former. Frederick needs a scandal-free bride and I no longer qualify.’

‘In which case I could talk to him and convince him I won’t go public.’

‘It wouldn’t work; his view is that it happened, therefore there is always a risk of discovery. However small the risk, he doesn’t feel it’s worth it.’

Didn’t feel Kaitlin was worth it. That had to hurt. Whatever the ins and outs of their relationship, however political or convenient it had been, they had spent nine months together.

‘And they say chivalry is dead.’

‘I don’t want chivalry—I messed up and there are consequences.’ A shadow flitted across the emerald-green eyes—one that spoke of weariness and a bitter knowledge of how cause and effect worked. ‘Anyway, I’ve given you the information you requested, so now it’s your turn. Tell me your plan to deal with April Fotherington.’

The idea that had spun into his mind as he’d travelled across London coalesced into a tangible reality. ‘OK. Listen up.’

CHAPTER FIVE

A PLAN—A POTENTIAL solution to their predicament was a good thing, right? Kaitlin tried to focus, to think... But right now it was hard to think at all through the confusion brought on by Daniel’s unexpected arrival on the scene. A veritable knight in shining armour. Not.

Daniel’s involvement suited his own purposes—her rescue was a mere by-product, and she’d do well to install that fact in her memory banks. But no matter—the past twenty-four hours had been abysmal, as she’d watched her future spiral out of her control, so if she could ride his coattails out of this mess then she would.

‘Go ahead.’

He rose to his feet in a lithe ripple of muscle. Clad in blue jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, he exuded energy as he paced the beige coir carpet.

‘At the wedding I said I had a project to discuss with you. We’ll run with that story. As I told you, in return for an invitation to your brother’s wedding I agreed to make a donation to the Caversham Foundation. Gabriel insisted that the donation not be monetary—instead he demanded I pledge a week of my time. I spoke with Ethan Caversham and I agreed.’

‘Why?’ The question was not germ

ane to the situation, but curiosity propelled the question from her lips.

‘I wanted the invitation—your brother and Ethan are valuable contacts—and Ethan is a very persuasive man. Enough that I agreed to take this week off work. I’m to travel to the Highlands, where I will spend three days participating in outdoor activities with a group of troubled teenagers. Then I fly to Venice to host a fundraising ball.’ He halted and turned to face her. ‘I propose that you come with me. What do you think?’

Say what?

He stood there as if he had come up with the equivalent of a winning lottery ticket instead of the nuttiest scheme ever.