An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two

by Nancy Scanlon

  Aidan paused. “I don’t think so.”

  Colin sighed audibly, his face revealing a bit of the stress he seemed to be facing. “Damn. The media relations are only part of it—I also need someone to stand next to me as a spokesperson. Maybe I should just go with the last woman I interviewed up here. She’s not the nicest person, but she’d get the job done.”

  Aidan shrugged, but inwardly, his pulse kicked up. “Let me see what her event calendar looks like. Maybe she does have something, and I’m just not aware of it.”

  “I hope she does.” Colin raked a hand through his hair, then turned the phone’s camera to his computer screen. The display of meetings in his email calendar made Aidan’s head spin. Colin sighed. “Do what you have to so I can contact her directly. I need some help.”

  • • •

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I don’t want any employee of mine to show up to a white tie event in casual attire,” he replied dryly, echoing the words of Tess, the stylist.

  “Listen to the man,” Tess said brusquely. “I’m set for now. I have your measurements and I’ll send over the dress before tonight’s event. Do you have hair and makeup set up?”

  Emma’s eyes were wide. “Um…no?”

  Tess tsked and gave her a disapproving stare. “Shall I arrange that as well? I have a few contacts and could try to find someone.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Yes,” Aidan interrupted Emma. “Please do. Put it on my bill.”

  Tess’s eyes turned speculative as she looked between Aidan and Emma.

  “This is too much money for one night,” Emma protested, her face reddening. “Honestly. There’s probably a million charities your cash could support instead.”

  Tess placed a firm hand on Emma’s arm. “In my experience, the more you struggle, the more they spend. He’s a big boy. Let him spend his money how he sees fit.”

  Aidan winked at the woman, who had to be at least twenty years his senior, and she waved her fingertips at him as she breezed out of the suite.

  He leveled a stare at Emma and watched in satisfaction as her protest died on her lips. “You agreed to this.”

  She folded her arms and pursed her lips.

  “You signed the contract,” he continued.

  She huffed out a sigh and raised her eyes to the ceiling.

  “You gave up any and all rights to the next twenty-four hours of your life.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I did not!”

  He chuckled. “Just checking your hearing.”

  Emma shook her head in apparent frustration. “I get that I need appropriate attire tonight. But I don’t need you to purchase me a new wardrobe!”

  He looked at the cardboard box sitting on the floor. “Your belongings beg to differ.”

  While Emma was sequestered with the stylist in the extra bedroom, Cian had salvaged what he could from her apartment, but there was little to be saved. Almost all of her belongings had been destroyed; the only things untouched were whatever was at the laundromat, which Cian had picked up on his way back to the hotel. And, judging by the size of the box, it didn’t look like she’d sent much in her last drop-off.

  She growled at Aidan, then rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “I had enough clothing to last me until I’m paid.”

  He shrugged and remained silent. He got the distinct feeling that if he told her the real reason why he wanted to buy her clothing, she’d run so fast out the door he’d never catch up to her again.

  Hell, even Cian had raised a bushy brow when Aidan demanded Neiman Marcus’s best personal shopper to be sent to his suite posthaste, but he wouldn’t be deterred. When a lass came under a laird’s protection, he took care of all her basic needs. Food, clothing, shelter. And whether or not she knew it, having signed that contract, Emmaline Perkins was now under his protection, and, until he reunited with his brother, Aidan MacWilliam was the laird.

  For the first time since being separated from Nioclas, Aidan’s chest didn’t tighten at the thought of him. His driving need to return home seemed slightly dulled.

  Emma’s mutinous face snagged his attention, and he frowned at her concern over his bank account. He tried another approach. “I want you to look a certain way while representing me.”

  She guffawed. “Oh, right. Because my usual business attire is inappropriate?”

  “You’d be better in business casual.”

  “Since when are jeans business casual?” she asked, her jaw set.

  “Since I declare them to be,” he answered, folding his own arms. “Isn’t it bad form to argue with your new boss?”

  She scowled at him, realizing the futility of her argument. “But—”

  “Call it a cultural thing,” he drawled. “And, if that doesn’t work for you, then think of it as a uniform.”

  She gritted her teeth, and after a charged moment, she ground out, “Thank you.” Then, because she apparently couldn’t seem to help herself, she added, “All of this is unnecessary, but I’m acquiescing.”

  “So gracefully, too,” he murmured, and took an inordinate amount of pleasure at watching her face suffuse with heat. “You’re quite welcome, anyway.” He sat on the sofa and checked his watch. “I have some business to do this afternoon. Feel free to make use of the suite. Full telly lineup, movies, the whole thing.”

  She half smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not big on television. I’ll figure something out.”

  “You’re welcome to use the iPad if you’d like.” He pointed to the device in the kitchen. “Order a book? Play a game of some sort?”

  She looked interested, and he took it as a good sign. “What’s on it?”

  “Not much, but you can download what you wish.” He retrieved it and handed it to her.

  Her eyes, glued to the screen, were enormous. She raised them to meet his, and Aidan felt something shift in his chest.

  “You have access to the Book of Kells on this?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Aye. It’s publicly available through Trinity College.”

  She shook her head as she swiped through the pages. “Not in its entirety,” she breathed. “I would know. I look for it online all the time. This is amazing—thank you.” And this time, the sincerity of the gratitude, plus the warmth from the true smile she bestowed upon him, knocked him flat.

  His breath caught and his chest tightened at her beauty. Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled, bringing him back to carefree childhood mornings spent on the seashore. The rosy color in her cheeks was the exact hue of the small flowers that dotted the Irish countryside; her honey hair, tendrils of which had escaped her hair tie and now framed her heart-shaped face, danced like fairies as she moved her head.

  She looks like home.

  • • •

  Curled up in the corner of the couch closest to the fireplace, Emma held her teacup between both hands as her eyes drank in the images on the device in front of her, which she’d propped on the arm of the sofa. The firelight danced in her hair, illuminating the lighter strands and shadowing the darker ones.

  Ensconced in her reading, Emma didn’t hear the brisk knock at the door, and she almost dropped her teacup in surprise when a man breezed over to her and fell to his knees. Aidan rose and stood behind the couch. He rested his hands on it, his face schooled into a blank mask.

  “Ooh, your cheekbones are exquisite!” the man declared in a thick French accent, grasping Emma’s chin and turning her head from side to side. He slid his fingers over a piece of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Oui, oui. The natural curl in your hair is delightful. I’ll fix it, though, don’t fret, ma chérie.”

  “I didn’t realize I was fretting,” she replied, leaning back a little.

  He leaned closer to her, closing the small distance she had created. “I am Howard. I will make your inner beauty shine for your gala tonight. Where will this amazing transformation happen? Here, or another room in this magnifique hotel?”

&nbs
p; “Um…maybe one of the bedrooms?” She shrugged and looked at Aidan. Is this guy for real? she wanted to ask. She noted the humor lurking in Aidan’s eyes, and her lips quirked at the corners in response.

  “I believe your evening preparations have begun,” Aidan deadpanned.

  “Indeed they have, monsieur!” Howard declared, standing with a flourish. “I shall make her into a breathtaking swan.”

  “You can’t improve perfection,” Aidan murmured. “But you’re certainly welcome to try.”

  Before Emma could form a response, Howard led her to the stairs, explaining that Tess had already sent him pictures of the dress that was on its way to them.

  • • •

  “My laird?” Cian stood by the door, his face incredulous as the door upstairs slammed shut. “Did you just…”

  “It was a compliment, Cian, nothing more,” Aidan replied as he sat back down to the spreadsheets and contracts on the table.

  Cian snorted, and Aidan rolled his eyes. “By the saints, I’ve complimented women before. ’Tis not so strange.”

  “I’ve not heard such flowery sentiments leave your mouth since we came to the future,” Cian replied, considering. “’Tis interesting, is all.”

  Another knock at the door saved Aidan from replying to that insight. “That’d be the dress, I suppose.”

  “Aye,” Cian concurred, his eyes twinkling. “Merely frosting for the perfect cake, no doubt.”

  Aidan grabbed the nearest report and flipped it open, refusing to take his clansman’s bait.

  Chapter 5

  Two very quick hours later, Emma felt a little like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman (well, she amended, minus the whole prostitution thing). She looked at herself in the mirror, smoothing her hands down her sides for the umpteenth time, unable to believe her own reflection.

  The cerulean blue, one-shoulder, floor-length Valentino gown shimmered as she moved, and strappy, blinged-out sandals gave her an extra three inches. Howard had tamed her hair to within an inch of its life. It was twisted around her head in a complicated but oh-so-elegant way, and dotted with small silver pearls. On each wrist she wore a set of four thin silver bracelets, and an additional small diamond bracelet of the same size (“to give an elegant touch,” Tess had declared). Emma’s earrings, also silver, were inlaid with tiny diamonds, and each had a small silver pearl drop.

  I could really get used to job perks like these, Emma thought, feeling the giddiness rise inside her. She let out an excited breath and grabbed the matching clutch on the counter. If only for tonight, she amended quickly, remembering the entire wardrobe set to be delivered tomorrow morning. Tess refused to divulge the amounts, but from the designer names she was dropping, Emma had a sinking suspicion the numbers were in the thousands.

  She glanced around the bedroom, giving a last-minute check that she had everything she needed. The suite was incredible. Every inch of it was decorated to a standard she’d never seen. It was truly a home away from home. Yeah, about two thousand square feet larger than my home. It must have been amazing to live this way every day. Perhaps Aidan’s home in Ireland was even bigger.

  A crash made her look to her right as she stepped off the bottom stair; Cian was staring at her, openmouthed, and a cup was rolling on the floor at his feet. Aidan was on the phone, his back to her as he stared out over the Manhattan skyline. He turned at the sound of the crash and, catching sight of her, ended his call abruptly.

  “You look stunning,” Aidan said, striding forward. She noticed he was in a tux; his bow tie was slightly askew. It made her smile.

  “Thank you,” she replied as he reached her. Self-consciously licking her lips, she reached up and straightened the tie, then felt her cheeks flush. She ignored the reaction; he was a client again. She was just making sure he appeared professional.

  “Ready?”

  “Réidh.”

  A slow smile crossed his features, and Emma blushed. She quickly explained, “Like I said in the office, I only know a little Gaelic. I’ve tried to learn it for years, but it’s one of those languages that I think I’d have to be immersed in to fully learn.”

  “Perhaps I can afford you the opportunity in the future,” he replied smoothly, causing her heart to jump in her chest. “But, for now, we must go; I want you to have a good look at the items before the auction begins.”

  “Have you seen them in person yourself?” she inquired as they stepped out.

  “Aye.”

  “Which item do you want the most?”

  He didn’t answer her immediately. As he slid into the limo behind her, he immediately removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves before reaching for a champagne flute. “The sword.”

  “Why do you want all of them? Why not just go for the sword?”

  He smirked at her. “Because, until about seven years ago, they were all mine to begin with. I’ve come to take them back.” He offered her some champagne.

  Emma’s mind raced as she silently accepted the glass. How did he amass millions of dollars’ worth of artifacts? Why did he sell them? Why does he want them back now?

  He started to laugh—a wonderful, rich sound that jolted Emma out of her own thoughts. “Emma, lass, if you wonder any harder, your eyebrows will fall off your face.” He relaxed, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and rested his chiseled arm across the back of the seat.

  She took a sip of the champagne to avoid responding. He was grace, sex, and alpha male personified. And she was not above admitting that he was overwhelming in a tux.

  “I had—and have—a very large assortment of artifacts from the Middle Ages. I sold many of them once I realized they were actually worth something. With the help of some very trusted sources, I found investing to be a rather interesting way of making money.”

  “So, other than restaurants and medieval artifacts, what do you invest in?” she asked, rolling the champagne flute between her fingers.

  “I have a swordfighting school outside of Galway. That’s gaining in popularity with all these Hollywood types. Also some green technologies and real estate.”

  He was looking at her so intimately, so intensely, she thought she might combust on the spot.

  “Fascinating,” she murmured, her mind racing. How was it that she’d never heard of him before? He was stunningly handsome, richer than Croesus, and unmarried. How had he avoided the paparazzi?

  “No.” He leaned forward, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s fascinating is what is going on in that beautiful head of yours. You’re overthinking something.”

  She drew her eyebrows together, a protest on her lips.

  “Emma. I’m good at spotting a lie, so don’t waste your time with one.”

  She put the champagne down and sat up a little straighter. “All right, then. I can’t figure out how you’ve avoided the spotlight,” she admitted.

  “And?”

  At his raised brow, she reluctantly added, “And you are overwhelming me with your generosity. I’m in a completely different place than I was yesterday, and I’m not adjusting very well.”

  Aidan placed his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. Shaking his head slowly, he replied, “Emmaline Perkins, I had no idea you thought so little of yourself.”

  “That’s not it at all.” She bristled, immediately defensive.

  His smile was slow and seductive. “First, there’s never reason to be nervous—or defensive—when you’re with me. I understand and accept that you don’t trust me yet—you shouldn’t trust anyone except yourself right now. Second, I don’t know anyone—man or woman—who would have dealt with your situation with as much grace; your entire world has been turned around, yet here you are, the consummate professional, going into the most anticipated auction with the world’s wealthy elite, as if you’ve been doing it the whole of your life. After being sacked, then ransacked…here you are. Funny, witty, refreshingly direct, beautiful, poised, and confident.” He sat back and raised an eyebrow at her. �
��Swan. How apt.”

  “Swan?” she asked, thrown.

  He nodded slowly. “What your makeup man said earlier. You are indeed a swan. Elegant grace, gentle beauty. But when you try to scare it, it fights back with everything it’s got.”

  Emma simply stared at him, transfixed. A delicate shudder ran up her spine.

  Aidan glanced out the window as the car slowed. “Smile for the cameras, Emmaline. Show the world that it can’t take you down.”

  He opened the door before she could formulate a response.

  • • •

  “Go for one-twenty.” Aidan’s voice, low in her ear, was confident and calm, contradicting the nerves jumping within Emma. She raised her small paddle as inconspicuously as possible, but, as she was quickly learning, there was no such thing as inconspicuous at an elite, closed auction.

  “We have one hundred twenty thousand dollars. Do we have one-twenty-five?” the auctioneer asked. “One-twenty-five. Do we have one-thirty?”

  “Yes,” Aidan said in her ear, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Doing great, Emmaline. Keep going. Our competition has some sweat on the back of his neck, so I think we’re close to his breaking point.”

  Emma nodded, her palms damp. This kind of money was unlike any she’d seen. Aidan had already dropped over a million dollars. But this—the sword with the same etching as was on The Colcannon’s door and napkins—was what he’d come for. While they had perused the artifacts before the opening bid, Aidan had confessed that it was a special sword his late brother had given him.

  Before Emma could offer her condolences, his face had shuttered, and he’d moved on to the next item.

  “We have one hundred thirty thousand dollars. Do we have one-thirty-five?” the auctioneer called. Her competition kept his paddle firmly in his lap, and Emma felt a rush of jubilation. We did it!

  “One-fifty,” someone suddenly called out from the back.