by Noelle Adams
The butler left, and less than a minute later another man entered the room. At first, she thought it was Damon, but a closer look told her it wasn’t. This man was perhaps in his fifties, balding, and wearing wire-rimmed glasses.
“Ms. Edwards,” he said. “I’m John Cassell. I handle the Damons’ legal matters.”
The family lawyer. Not one of those at the meeting last week. He must be higher up the food chain.
She stood and shook his hand, recognizing that although he was polite, he wasn’t happy to see her. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cassell.”
“You understand,” he said matter-of-factly, “that we prefer to deal with lawyers about matters such as this. I’m sorry you came all this way—”
“But I don’t want to discuss legal matters,” she interrupted, before he could dismiss her. She was so out of her comfort zone, but managed to keep her tone firm and even. “Of course we would have our lawyer present for any sort of legal negotiations. I simply want to offer an explanation. To Mr. Damon. For what happened in Monte Carlo.”
Cassell stared at her for a moment. “He’s a busy man.”
“Naturally. I’ll only take fifteen minutes of his time.”
For a moment, he looked torn.
She wondered why the family lawyer had greeted her and why Damon hadn’t sent an assistant to deal with the intrusion instead. Cassell didn’t appear to be angry or offended. Rather, he looked defensive—and, for a second, almost scared.
She decided she must have misread his expression when he glanced at his watch
Following through on her advantage, she grinned brightly and pulled out a book from her leather bag. “If he’s busy, I’m happy to wait. I don’t have anything else scheduled today.”
She sat in a chair, opened the book, and pretended not to be nervous, determined she wouldn’t leave unless they bodily evicted her.
When the lawyer continued to stare at her, she glanced at him, smiling more confidently than she felt. “Whenever he has a spare minute.” She focused on her book, not seeing a single word on the page.
Finally Cassell left the room without comment.
Marietta exhaled in a rush. She’d won that round as well. It hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared.
The hardest round was yet to come. Her conversation with Damon.
The gentleman who entered a few minutes later was certainly Cyrus Damon. She remembered him from when she was a child—when he and her grandfather had partnered in a chain of Provençal-style restaurants—and he hadn’t changed much. A slight, unimpressive man of only average height, he had gray hair and eyes the same brown as Harrison’s.
“Good morning, Ms. Edwards,” he said, extending his hand with perfect courtesy. “I hope you have been made comfortable.”
She’d thought he would be cold and hard the way Harrison had been after discovering her identity, but she could see no anger or distrust in his expression.
Already, she felt off-stride. She hadn’t expected him to be nice to her. “Yes, thank you, sir. Your staff is very kind.”
He gestured to a chair, and she noticed he didn’t sit until she did. She’d heard that he cultivated the aura of a gentleman of old—honorable, respectable, and eminently civil—and she’d scoffed. Yet, the deference he showed her appeared genuine.
She’d almost rather he bite out insults like Harrison had. At least that way she’d know where she stood.
“I will admit to being surprised by your presence,” Damon began. His face was mild, but his sharp, observant gaze proved he wouldn’t miss a thing. He wouldn’t be easily won over.
“I apologize for not making an appointment. I wasn’t sure you would meet with me, you see.”
“And so you decided ambush was your best tactic.”
“Precisely.” She risked a half-smile and noticed a faint smirk on his lips.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Edwards?”
“I wanted to offer you an explanation for the breakdown of the meeting last week.” She began her prepared speech with only a slight wobble in her voice.
His eyebrows lifted. “Did you?”
“I wanted you to have the whole story so you could decide how to proceed.”
“I am happy to hear the whole story.”
She cleared her throat. Now that she’d gotten to this point, she couldn’t take a full breath. “I suppose your nephew told you his understanding of what happened.” She needed to be diplomatic, but it was difficult to talk about Harrison without conveying how much she wanted to smack his smug, handsome face.
“If I may interrupt, Ms. Edwards. I haven’t heard anything about what happened in Monte Carlo. Harrison told me the negotiations failed but offered no reasons, and I could get no coherent explanation from our lawyers. All Harrison would say was that he’d been stupid.”
Marietta gasped. “He didn’t say anything…anything about me?”
“No. I sent investigators for information but haven’t heard a full report.”
She was astounded. She’d been sure Harrison would have thoroughly defamed her, poisoning his uncle’s mind against her. Her whole approach had been based on that assumption. Now she had no idea how to proceed.
“My dear Ms. Edwards,” Damon said gently. “You look rather unsteady. Perhaps some more tea—”
“No. No, thank you. I’m all right.”
Why hadn’t Harrison told his uncle what happened?
“So you see,” Damon continued, kindly overlooking her lingering discomfort. “Your arrival is fortuitous. I’d very much like an explanation. And it seems you can give me one.”
She swallowed, finding her momentum again. “Well, you see, sir, your nephew was in a club in Monte Carlo. I guess it was a Damon club, although I didn’t know that at the time. He was working, and I went to the club with a friend. I didn’t know who he was. And he didn’t know who I was.”
Damon let out a breath and relaxed back in his chair. “Ah.”
She nodded. “I genuinely didn’t know he was a Damon. I thought he was just a…just a guy. I never read the magazines and gossip columns. I’ve avoided obsessing too much on…on…”
“I understand. Please continue.”
“So we started talking. And danced.” She completely lost her polished explanation and let the words spill out. “I didn’t know who he was. I just thought he was nice and interesting and… He didn’t know who I was either and I think he had a good time. I…I liked him.”
Comprehension dawned on Damon’s face, overwhelming the polite astonishment he’d shown as she told her story. “And he liked you.”
She dropped her eyes. “Yes. Well, I, uh, think maybe he did. A little.”
“And he discovered your identity in a way that was rather abrupt?”
“Yes. It was terrible. He thought the whole thing was a plot against him, that I’d been deceiving him the whole time. But I wasn’t! I really wasn’t. He thought I…” She couldn’t bring herself to say any more. All the painful feelings of that confrontation had returned.
“Naturally, he did.”
She cut her eyes back to him with a harsh gasp. “I promise you, sir, that I was as shocked by the truth as he was.”
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” Damon said, his voice as mild as ever. “I was referring to something else. Harrison has had experiences that lead him to assume the worst.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. “I tried to explain, but he didn’t…he wouldn’t…”
“I find it hard to believe he didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself. Harrison believes in fair play. He used to come home black and blue because he’d jumped into fights at school when one side had an unfair advantage.”
Marietta found the image of Harrison as a brave little boy troubling. He’d counted out cash to pay her like a whore. She wouldn’t give him her sympathy. “He did give me a chance. But by then I was too mad—as if I would stoop to begging for his forgiveness for something I didn’t do.”
Damo
n tried to hide a smile. “I see.”
Remembering what was most important, she concluded, “So you see, sir, that it was all an unfortunate misunderstanding. I know he wants nothing to do with me, but I don’t want that to ruin all chances of finally settling this. My family needs for this situation to come to a conclusion. My poor grandfather—” Her voice broke on the word, and she cleared her throat. “He loved us so much. Me and my sister. And he can’t seem to let it go. But we need to.” She added, taking a great risk, “And maybe you do, too.”
“Hmm.”
She let out a long breath. Damon had surprised her by acting like a reasonable man—remarkably polite given the circumstances. This meeting hadn’t been as hard as she’d feared, and she felt a faint stirring of excitement over being brave enough to do it alone.
“Harrison is at home,” Damon said unexpectedly. “He has his own flat in London, but he stays here much of the time for business. Did you want to see him?”
“No!” Flushing and moderating her tone, she added, “No, thank you. I came only to see you. And I appreciate your listening to me. I will be on my way now, if you understand why everything fell apart last week. Perhaps you or another one of your representatives can come back, or my grandfather and our lawyer might be able to come here. I just didn’t want this…this thing to ruin our best chance for…”
She wasn’t sure what to hope for. Not reconciliation. Not satisfaction. Not even peace. Maybe just an end, at last.
Damon stood, so Marietta did as well. His eyes took in her appearance. The close scrutiny changed and for the first time, something like kindness softened his eyes. “I am very glad to see you looking so healthy, Ms. Edwards. We were so pleased when we heard the last surgery was a success.”
“Thank you.” She hadn’t expected the shift in mood, and her voice cracked embarrassingly. “Much more was lost that day than my ability to walk. For all of us.”
He glanced away, but not before she saw the flicker of sorrow.
Empathy stirred, but she squashed it. He might have loved his nephew, but he was a Damon. Michael Damon had killed her sister, and this man refused to admit the truth.
She assumed she was about to be dismissed and congratulated herself for getting through the interview with no disasters and no run-ins with Harrison.
Then Damon said, “I hope you will do us the honor of remaining our guest for the week.”
Marietta gaped. “What?”
Damon’s mouth twitched, exactly like Harrison. “I seem to have taken you by surprise. I am inviting you to stay with us for the week. You’ve had a long trip, and it would be a shame for you to turn around and leave immediately.”
“But under the circumstances… I mean, it wouldn’t be… It’s not like we’re…friends or anything.”
His eyebrows lifted haughtily. “Whatever else you think of us, surely you don’t believe we are in the habit of assaulting guests in our home.”
“Of course not! I just don’t understand why…or what we could gain from…”
“Further understanding,” he answered glibly. “For the last fifteen years, communication has been hampered by anger and recriminations. Now seems to be the perfect time to come to know each other better. If, at the end of the week, we are on better terms, the families can continue negotiations.”
So it wasn’t an invitation at all. These were his terms: no settlement if she didn’t stay. “I see.” She spoke slowly to keep her voice even. “Do you really think we have that much more to make clear?”
“I only have your word that you and your family didn’t perpetrate an elaborate and malicious deception aimed at my nephew a week ago.”
She sucked in a harsh breath. “And I only have your word that your nephew didn’t know exactly who I was and perpetrate the same kind of deception on me.”
“Oh, no,” he said, his voice more dangerous because it was gentle. “Surely you don’t believe my nephew knew you would be at our club that evening, unless you think he was in collusion with your friend.”
Marietta felt her face blanch. What a fool she’d been to lower her guard. Despite his mild manner, Cyrus Damon was a powerful adversary.
He’d probably shown her courtesy, made her feel comfortable, so she wouldn’t expect it when he finally raised his weapons.
“Very well,” she said, with what she hoped was a cool voice. “Thank you for your hospitality. I accept the invitation. Perhaps by the end of the week, you will be confident that I am not the villain of the piece.”
“Then who do you propose the villain to be? My nephew, perhaps?”
Marietta stiffened. She could play just as well as him. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “I wasn’t thinking about him.”
She caught a glint in his eye—maybe anger, maybe appreciation. But before she could pursue the reaction, the door to the sitting room swung open.
A familiar voice began, “Cassell said I might want to—”
Harrison jerked to a halt when his eyes landed on Marietta. He looked just as handsome as she remembered and even more untouchable in another black suit and with newly trimmed hair.
He seemed a little tired, too, but his eyes missed nothing as he sized up the situation—her white tense face, his uncle’s arrow-stiff back, the neatly ironed flounce at the hem of her skirt.
“What is this?” he asked, his voice hard and wary. The same thing he’d asked in the conference room in Monte Carlo.
“Ms. Edwards was kind enough to pay me a visit,” Damon said calmly. “I’ve invited her to stay the week with us.”
“What?” Surprise cracked his cool control, and his eyes flashed anger as he turned on Marietta. “What new game are you playing?”
“I’m not playing—”
“Whatever our inclinations, Ms. Edwards is our guest now.” Damon spoke over her, his voice smooth but its effect like the crack of a whip.
Harrison’s lips tightened. “She’s our guest? What did she tell you?”
“She told me a story of what happened. I’ve yet to conclude—”
“I told him the truth,” Marietta cut in, angry at these arrogant men who refused to believe her. “And I never asked for your hospitality.” She emphasized the last word with pointed bitterness. “Since your nephew obviously can’t tolerate my presence, I’ll return home like I planned.”
“My nephew will remember his manners soon.”
Damon was a tyrant, all right—in his own polite way. Marietta wished Harrison would rebel. That he’d insist his uncle throw her out. He looked angry enough to pick her up and heave her out the door himself.
He didn’t. He swallowed and didn’t further question his uncle’s decision. Shooting her a look of icy contempt, he gritted out, “Of course, she’s welcome to stay. As long as she realizes that, whatever she’s planned, we are not easily made victims.”
How well she knew that. The Damons were never victims.
But her sister had been.
Torn between fury, dread, and a poignant ache at the memory of their night together, she ripped her gaze from him. He’d given her a sweet pea. She should have thrown the thing in the trash.
Focusing on an empty spot between the two men, she said, “I’ve done what I came here to do. Now all I need to do is stay long enough for one of you to believe me.”
“Stay the week,” Damon said mildly. “That should be long enough for me to take an assessment of the situation. Perhaps Harrison can show you around.”
He might pretend to be courteous, but she’d been right about Cyrus Damon.
Even to his own nephew, he was cruel.
Chapter Five
The Damons dressed for dinner.
It was a ridiculous, old-fashioned custom, and Marietta resented having to participate. She couldn’t offend Damon, though, not if she wanted their families to find closure.
Their driver had taken her to the hotel earlier to collect her belongings, so she showered and dressed in the only decent dinner outfit she’d brought—a
simple black sheath dress without the matching jacket to be more evening-appropriate. She decided she looked fine. It didn’t matter if she looked pretty or elegant.
There was no one in this house she wanted to impress.
She composed a mask of indifference as she descended the stairs at exactly two minutes before dinnertime. In the foyer, she found a man standing with his back to her, staring out the large front window.
He was tall and dark-haired, his broad shoulders and strong back evident under a black dress shirt and his firm buttocks showcased in perfectly tailored black trousers.
Harrison. She was surprised he wasn’t wearing a suit.
She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.
The man turned, and a pair of startling green eyes studied her with frank curiosity.
Not Harrison.
The man who must be Andrew had nicely chiseled features and a flirtatious grin. Probably habitual for him, since she’d done nothing to encourage his interest except appear in the room.
“You must be Ms. Edwards.” He stepped forward.
She shook the warm hand he extended and managed to say, “Marietta. And I guess you’re Andrew.”
“Guilty.”
Not seeing Harrison’s face when the man turned around had flustered her. She felt off-stride and a little sleazy for lusting after a man, only to discover it was someone else.
She shouldn’t be lusting after Harrison, anyway. A great butt could hardly make up for his vile behavior.
Andrew appeared to enjoy her discomposure. “I’m so glad you’ve come to visit us for the week. It was getting rather dull around here. So you had a little fling with my brother in Monte Carlo, did you? Met him in a nightclub?”
Marietta gaped at the brazen question posed with such a neutral, conversational tone. “Excuse me?”
Andrew laughed. “Just a guess. But from that blush I think I must be right. Shall we go in to dinner? The others are probably waiting in the drawing room. We observe all the rituals here, if you hadn’t yet noticed.”
Baffled and mortified by having given away her relationship with Harrison, she took his arm mutely and walked to the drawing room with him.