Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate

‘Of course it did. Not because I wanted more, but because I liked and respected “Lynette” and I hoped that the night was meaningful to us both.’

Ouch.

The words hurt, but she knew she deserved them. It had been poor form to deceive him and it had been disingenuous of her to say that the night had been meaningless. But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—back down now. Daniel Harrington had the power to bring her name and, more importantly, the name of Lycander into disrepute.

‘None of this is relevant, Mr Harrington. I need to know whether you plan to go public.’

Her breath caught in her lungs as she waited for his answer.

There was a silence as he looked at her, and then he shook his head. ‘Is that all you care about?’

‘Right now, yes. And I won’t apologise for that. This isn’t only my name at stake—it’s Frederick’s as well.’

His lips twisted in a grimace. ‘To say nothing of mine. So you have no need to fret, Kaitlin. I won’t go public. Believe it or not, I have no wish to be embroiled in some sordid media scandal.’

The intensity of his voice alerted her, and she couldn’t help but wonder at the nuance of revulsion. As if he sensed her interest he shrugged. ‘I’m a lawyer—a serious one—it wouldn’t be good for my business.’

That made sense, and yet she had an instinct that there was more to it than that. Not that it mattered—the point was that he would keep their time in Barcelona to himself. But even as relief washed over her, her doubts grew. Could Daniel really not want anything? Could she trust him?

Even though an irrational gut feeling told her she could, she knew the world didn’t turn like that. A woman she’d trusted completely had been the one to collude with her kidnappers. Since then she’d made a point of not listening to her instincts—after all, she was living proof of how foolish trust could be.

‘So, you’ll walk away?’

There was a second’s hesitation as he studied her, and she swore she could see a flicker of concern in his ice-blue eyes.

‘Yes. But I’ll give you the same advice that I gave “Lynette” nine months ago. Don’t enter a gilded cage unless you have the means to leave.’

‘OK.’ Once again she wondered why it mattered so much to him. ‘And, thank you, Daniel.’

He rose to his feet and held out a hand. ‘Good luck, Kaitlin.’

Rising to her feet, she looked at his hand for a fraction too long, absurdly worried about so much as a touch. Truly absurd. She pulled on a smile that hopefully combined farewell with gratitude and placed her hand in his.

Not so absurd after all. His touch made her feel... It didn’t matter what it made her feel. Because it shouldn’t make her feel anything.

‘Goodbye, Daniel.’

As she turned to exit the room she waited for relief to wash over her. But instead her tummy felt weighted with a ridiculous sense of loss. An echo of nine months before, when she had walked away from that hotel room in Barcelona.

CHAPTER FOUR

Two weeks later

KAITLIN STARED IN the mirror, marvelled at the serenity of her reflection that thankfully showed no indication of the inner hysterics gallivanting inside her. But she shouldn’t be surprised. After all this was her forte—looking the part.

Her outfit was the perfect choice for a woman about to receive a marriage proposal from a prince. The flared cream trouser suit was cool and casual, and saved from blandness by the sparkly shimmer of a silver-grey camisole-style blouse. Her freshly washed hair fell in simple loose waves to her shoulders, and her make-up epitomised the art of discretion.

Time to go—even though her nerves quivered as she exited her old bedroom in Derwent Manor, taking comfort from the familiar smooth sheen of the oak under her fingertips as she descended the stairs and walked past the line of portraits of her ancestors. It was easy to imagine them all applauding with approval at the prospective alliance.

As she entered the lounge Prince Frederick turned from where he stood at the ornate fireplace.

‘Kaitlin.’

‘Frederick.’

He stepped towards her, his face expressionless, a picture of formal decorum, dressed in a tailor-made suit, his hazel eyes unreadable, but without a hint of warmth.

This is not how it is supposed to be, pointed out a small, insistent voice at the back of her brain.