Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate

‘So is this how you always travel?’

‘A fair amount. I travel a lot, and it’s useful to be able to utilise the time to work. It’s what a lot of corporate clients expect as well—and, as someone once told me, image is everything.’

This pulled a smile from her. ‘If the image you’re trying to project is one of success, you’ve nailed it. My bet is that you have a sports car in your garage and the clothes you are wearing set you back a hefty sum. Though you’ve gone for discreet quality over brash designer label.’

‘Was the car a guess or research?’ He nodded at the ubiquitous notebook that rested on the table in front of her, close to hand, almost like a talisman.

‘It was a guess. Though there is some more research I’d like to do.’

His eyebrows rose of their own volition as he eyed the notebook with more than a hint of fascination ‘There can’t possibly be any more questions to ask.’

‘There is always more information to collect. I assume you research before you go to court? This is the same idea. It’s my job. If you want this project to get good publicity then I have to work out the best way to do that—my strategy, how I will project Lady Kaitlin to maximise benefit. So it’s important I wear the right outfit, say the right thing at the right time.’

‘Fair enough.’ Yet a good few of the questions the previous night had been about their destination, the exact location of the kayaking school, the website for the cottage in Inverness and the hotel in Venice... Surely irrelevant for publicity purposes. ‘So what else do you want to know?’

‘How to handle the kids.’ Her gaze met his, fair and square. ‘I want to figure out how to relate to the teenagers—find a frame of reference.’ Her slender fingers tapped the notebook. ‘I come from a wealthy, privileged background, so these teenagers may well resent me. I’m looking for a way round that. If you come from a similar background you may have some ideas how to combat that.’

Discomfort scratched his skin at the knowledge that his privileged upbringing, the wealth that had cushioned his childhood, the expensive education, had all come from the proceeds of crime. True, he’d funded his own way through law school, through sheer hard graft, but that didn’t cancel out the sting of guilt.

Kaitlin huffed out a sigh. ‘Actually, scrub that. However you started out, you’ve clearly worked damned hard to get where you are. The kids will respect that. But they will see that I was born to wealth and position and have done nothing to earn it. I’m worried my presence may goad them, make them feel patronised, especially because I’m not sure what I can offer them.’

Despite her matter-of-fact tone, he could sense the tremor of vulnerability and it touched him. ‘You earn a living. You have a job. Tell me about it.’

‘I work in an art gallery. I liaise with customers and artists. I help decide who we represent. I organise promotional events and I am the “face” of the gallery.’

‘So you have a knowledge of art, an ability to sell and to interact with people—not to mention organisational skills. There is plenty there to earn respect. You can discuss art and painting. Hell, you may spark an interest that means some teenager goes on to become the next Picasso.’

For a second her green eyes were luminous with wist. ‘Perhaps. But it’s a job that was given to me because the owner knows my mother and likes the kudos of having a “Lady” working for her.’

‘Is it a job you wanted?’

‘It was a job that was presented to me and that fits in with my duties to Derwent Manor, and I’m good at it.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

Daniel frowned. With Kaitlin’s intelligence, connections, looks and personality she could surely have pursued any career she wanted?

‘I didn’t know what I wanted to do, so this seemed as suitable as anything else. Did you always know you wanted to be a lawyer?’

‘Yes.’

Perhaps because once he’d understood what had happened to his father he’d been able to see the burning injustice of it all.

Giovanni Romano’s family had disowned him for marrying Daniel’s mother. Part of that rejection had entailed sacking him from his job in the family business. The young Daniel had wondered what would have happened if his parents had consulted a lawyer, found grounds for unfair dismissal. Then there had been his father’s subsequent contract to drive a lorry. The young Daniel had been sure there must be some flaw in it—perhaps too many hours, some kind of exploitation, something that the law would have found. That way his father’s death when he’d crashed the lorry through sheer exhaustion would have been prevented.

Daniel wiped a hand down his face, swiped the memory away. History could not be rewritten, and in the here and now it was Kaitlin who intrigued him. ‘I did. But don’t change the subject. We were talking about you. You must have had some idea of what you wanted to do.’

‘Nope. I didn’t. I did well at school, but nothing inspired me.’ Her green eyes widened, as if she was looking back to a past that held less than stellar memories. She s

hrugged. ‘I guess I have no ambition.’

‘Except to marry well?’

‘That’s my parents’ ambition—not mine,’ she flashed back, and then pressed her lips together in clear self-irritation. ‘The point is that I do not have any burning career drive.’

‘You must have had a childhood dream. Everyone does.’

‘Of course.’ Her hand waved in a dismissive gesture. ‘As a child I believed I could do anything. Thought I could pick between doctor, singer, dancer, scientist...you name it, I’d imagined it.’