Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate
Rising from the sofa, she faced him. ‘My association with Prince Frederick was an alliance, not a relationship, and as such he had the right to break it if expedient. End of.’
‘But you want to keep your options open to renew that alliance?’
His expression had dialled right back to disdain, but this time she steeled herself to suck it up. This conversation had gone far enough—exceeded the parameters of her comfort zone by a long way.
‘It’s always wise to keep your options open. Let’s go back to your plan.’
‘Your call. You’re the one with the concerns about the possibility of a romantic angle.’
Instinct warned her that a week with Daniel Harrington might lead to disaster, but logic reiterated the benefits.
‘I’m in.’
‘Good. Let’s face the press on your doorstep now. After that, I’m flying out to Scotland early tomorrow—we might as well travel together.’
‘No! Wait!’ Seeing the surprise in his eyes, she dialled down the volume of her response. ‘I mean, yes, but I need more information before we leave.’
New places had the ability to overwhelm her and trigger a panic attack, so she needed information so that she could prepare, research, lay the groundwork to minimise the chance. Plus she had to ensure she had knowledge of the correct image Lady Kaitlin should project, which facet of her persona would be on show.
‘So would it be possible to brief me more thoroughly after we do the press interview?’
‘No problem—we can combine it with dinner.’
‘Great.’ Her tummy was as hollow as the adjective—after all the last time she’d had dinner with Daniel Harrington...
Stop. Don’t go there.
* * *
Daniel glanced sideways at Kaitlin as they traversed the busy London streets en route to a restaurant of her choosing. Her elusive rose scent tantalised him, brought back unwanted reminders of another city, another time.
Another woman.
Once again he marvelled at the difference between ‘Lynette’ and Kaitlin, squashed the urge to see if he could delve beneath the layers of Kaitlin to free ‘Lynette’.
Get a grip.
That perfume had clearly sent him towards delirium. No one needed freeing. From anywhere.
‘It’s here.’ Kaitlin slowed down and gestured to a small restaurant. ‘Cora and I eat here sometimes. It’s private, but it won’t give the wrong idea.’
As they entered Daniel saw what she meant. The effect was both quirky and fun; the mezzanine deck of the restaurant, where a number of booths were located, was approached by ladders, and the clientele was a mix of parents out with their kids, groups of friends and the occasional couple.
‘Lady Kaitlin.’ A stocky dark-haired man came forward. ‘Welcome. Will there be reporters who need to be quietly ejected?’
‘Hi, Carlos. We should be safe today.’
Daniel hoped so—the press had decamped from her door, having seemed to swallow their story, delivered with admirable aplomb by Kaitlin. It was a dexterity he had only been able to admire: the way she had sidestepped personal questions, explained her enthusiasm for the opportunity to support a cause her siblings already espoused. Though whether April Fotherington would fall for it or not was yet to be seen.
‘Then follow me.’
They climbed to the upper level, where Carlos ushered them into a wooden booth hung with low lighting that gave a homely impression of warmth, enhanced by the warm polish of the rustic pine table between high-backed benches, padded with lengths of cheerful red cushion.
‘I recommend the special
.’
‘I’m good with that,’ Kaitlin said.