Dirty Aristocrat

He let go of my arm.

I rubbed it. ‘What have I done that is so bad, anyway? I had breakfast with a neighbor,’ I demanded.

‘I think it’s a phenomenon called karma. You know, what goes around comes around. Since you’re now worth over a hundred million, you’ve become the target for every fortune hunter in the

country.’

I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Wow! I can’t believe I’m hearing this. So you assumed that Ralph is a fortune hunter? Just like that. No evidence?’

‘No,’ he stated clearly. ‘I didn’t just assume. I know he is. He’s a city boy who hasn’t made any money for more than a year. He’s had to take a third mortgage out on his flat, and his

credit cards are all maxed out. He hasn’t a bean to his name.’

The first sensation was one of hurt. The knowledge that the lovely, ordinary life I had dreamed about was never going to be mine. From now on I was always going to have to examine the

motives of everyone who came into contact with me. You can either have good friends or you can have money. I covered the wound with indignant anger.

‘You had him investigated? How dare you poke your nose into other people’s business like that? So what if he’s poor. It doesn’t make him a bad person.’

‘I didn’t have him investigated. Just ran a credit check. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re so mad about. It’s what you should have done before you agreed to go for a cozy muffin

breakfast with him.’

The suspicion that I had been bottling up bubbled over. ‘Maybe I should have you investigated.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

His voice was suddenly deadly quiet, but I had got this far and I wasn’t backing down. ‘Maybe I should have you investigated. Find out why you’re going to all this trouble for me when

you don’t even like me.’

He crossed his arms. ‘I told you why I’m doing it.’

‘The deathbed promise to Robert to take care of me? Or maybe … you’re so eager to marry me for my money. It is a lot, isn’t it?’

His eyes widened comically. Then he laughed, a sarcastic, arrogant laugh. ‘That’s rich. Really rich. You are accusing me of being a gold digger?’

I shrugged. ‘Why not? You’re making love to Chloe while asking me to marry you.’

He looked at me strangely. ‘I don’t make love to Chloe. We have sex. I fill up all her orifices and ejaculate in them. Her pussy, her mouth, her ass.’

My mouth dropped open at the last orifice he mentioned.

He smiled wickedly. ‘Why, Tawny honey,’ he said in an irritating parody of a Southern accent. ‘I didn’t know you were into ass play. All you had to do was ask.’

‘I am not, and if I was you’d be the last man I’d ask,’ I gritted furiously.

He threw a fake grin. ‘Shame. It might have been real fun filling up your cornbread eating ass.’

‘Trust you to be as disgusting as possible. However, I noticed you didn’t deny wanting to marry me for my money.’

‘That’s what our pre-nup is for, darlin’. I don’t take yours and you don’t take mine.’

‘Yes, but I bet being married to me would mean you could live better and bigger, wouldn’t it?’

His expression changed. He paused as if debating whether to tell me something. It was hard for me to know what was going through his head. Finally, he said, ‘Come on. I want to show you

something.’

‘Forget it. I’m not going anywhere with you,’ I said stubbornly.

‘It might clear up the misunderstanding you have about me and my … er … intentions towards you.’

I hesitated.

He turned and began to walk away. For a few seconds I hesitated, then he turned around and cocked an eyebrow, and I knew I was going to follow him. How could I pass up such an intriguing

offer to know my husband to be?

‘This better be good,’ I mumbled, taking a step towards him.

‘It is,’ he said, and smiled as I drew up alongside him.

He took me around the block to where his car was parked. Oh. My. God. Of course, he would have to be one of those guys who spent all their money on a car. It was a mean looking black

Lamborghini with red leather seats. The car doors lifted up.

‘They say men who buy these kinds of cars are compensating for a lack of size or performance elsewhere,’ I said airily.

‘Have you ever noticed how haters are never as successful, as clever, or as good looking as the people they’re hating?’ he asked, and slipped into the car.

I got in, the wings came down, and he turned the ignition on.

‘Where’re we going?’ I shouted over the fantastic roar.

‘Buckinghamshire,’ he said shortly.

For crying out loud! ‘Why are we going there?’