Harlequin Romance August 2014 Bundle

by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate

  He didn’t call anything teasing after her and she wondered if he’d read her thoughts despite her best efforts. Thoughts of kissing him, of the need that pummelled her whenever he was near...of how close she’d come earlier to throwing herself at him.

  Oh, that would’ve been another sterling example of her brilliant judgement. Rick might want her. She knew enough to know what the heat in his eyes meant when he looked at her a certain way. She knew that these days men found her attractive. And she knew she found Rick attractive, but where would it lead? To heartbreak, that was where.

  Rick wasn’t a criminal, but he was a heartbreaker. He’d made it clear that he had no intention of sticking around once he solved the mystery his father had set him. And she didn’t fool herself that she’d be the woman to change his mind.

  She was through with fairy tales. From here on she dealt in reality.

  * * *

  ‘I’m sorry, Ms Smythe-Whittaker, but this ring is a copy...a fake.’

  The room spun, the ground beneath her feet bucked, and Nell had to reach out and grip the countertop in front of her.

  ‘Mind you, it’s a very good copy. It wouldn’t have been cheap to have had this made.’ The jeweller peered at the ring through his eyeglass again. ‘But there’s no doubt about it. The stone is just a very cleverly cut crystal and not a diamond.’

  It was Rick’s hand at her elbow that finally stopped the room from spinning. It took all her strength, but she gathered the shreds of her composure around her. ‘How disappointing.’

  ‘I am sorry, Ms Smythe-Whittaker.’

  ‘I am too, but I do thank you for taking the time to look at it. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’

  He handed her the ring. ‘Any time. It’s been a pleasure.’

  Nell, with a silent Rick at her back, left the shop.

  ‘Could he have been mistaken...or lying?’

  She shook her head. ‘The man has an impeccable reputation. He would never consider taking a bribe from my father to suggest the ring was a fake. He wouldn’t risk his professional standing like that.’

  ‘Nell—’

  ‘Please, not here. Let’s wait till we get home.’ A home she might not be able to keep for much longer. A lump lodged in her throat. She swallowed, but that only shifted the heaviness to her chest.

  Could she give up the idea of her gorgeous Victorian high teas and get a real job?

  Doing what? Who would employ her? And even if she could get a job, the likelihood of making a wage that could manage the upkeep of Whittaker House was so slim as to be laughable.

  She didn’t realise they’d reached home until she found herself pushed into a chair with a glass of something foul-smelling pressed into her hand. ‘Drink,’ Rick ordered.

  Obeying was easier than arguing. She tipped the glass back and swallowed the contents whole.

  ‘Omigod!’ She gasped for air. She choked and coughed and struggled to breathe.

  ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Better? What are you trying to do? Poison me!’

  ‘You’ve at least some colour in your cheeks again.’

  She bit her lip. Dear Lord... ‘Have I gone pathetic again?’

  ‘There’s nothing pathetic about you, Princess. You’ve just had a nasty shock.’

  She held her glass back out to him. ‘May I have another one of those? It was very...bracing.’

  He took the glass with a laugh and handed her a soda instead.

  ‘I see we’re being sensible now,’ she grumbled.

  ‘If you want to get roaring drunk we’ll need to find you something better than cooking brandy.’

  He had a point. Besides, she didn’t want to get roaring drunk. Not really. She hunched over her can of soda, twirling it around and around on the spot.

  ‘So...obviously my father ransacked the jewels before John hid the box.’

  ‘But why have a copy made? Why go to that bother?’

  She stared at him. ‘That’s true. He didn’t go to the same trouble for the diamond necklace, did he?’

  ‘Unless John moved the box before he had a chance to.’

  She turned the question over in her mind. ‘No,’ she finally said. ‘He wouldn’t go to that effort just for me. He’d simply laugh as if he’d bettered me, got one up on me. He’d tell me to suck it up.’

  On the table Rick’s hand clenched. ‘I’m fairly certain I don’t like your father.’

  Ditto.

  She blew out a breath. ‘He must’ve pawned that ring while my grandmother was still alive. He’s not afraid of me, but he’d have been afraid of her retribution.’ She twirled her can around a few more times, running a finger through the condensation that formed around it. ‘Which means I’d better not pin my hopes on anything else in that box.’

  ‘Nell...’

  She glanced up at the tone of his voice. She immediately straightened at the expression on his face. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You’re aware that I had both the means and the opportunity to take something from that jewellery box and to have had a copy made.’

  ‘Oh, right, in all of your spare time in the what—one night it stayed there?’

  ‘I knew about it for two nights.’

  She folded her arms. All the better to resist the urge to pitch her soda at him. ‘I’ve already told you more than once that I don’t believe you’re a thief. How many more times do I have to say it before you believe me?’ If her glare could blister paint, the wall behind him should be peeling by now. ‘Why are you so determined for me to think badly of you?’

  He dragged a hand down his face and her chest cramped and started to ache. He didn’t want her to think badly of him, but he kept expecting her to because that was how people treated him. She didn’t blame him for this particular chip on his shoulder, but she wasn’t ‘people’.

  He held up a hand to forestall her. ‘If a complaint were made, I’d be a major suspect.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, who’s going to make a complaint? I can assure you that I won’t.’ Though it’d serve her father right if she did and the scandal was splashed all over the papers. But it wouldn’t bring Grandma’s ring back. ‘And the only other interested party—my grandmother—is dead. I think you can rest easy on that head, don’t you?’

  He sat back as if she’d punched the air out of him. ‘You really believe I’m not a thief.’

  She pulled out her most supercilious shrug. ‘I refuse to repeat myself on that head ever again.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re an extraordinary woman, you know that?’

  ‘Uh-huh, extraordinary and broke.’

  He grinned, a sexy devil of a smile that made her heart lurch and her pulse beat like a crazy thing. She should look away, be sensible, but it seemed as if the fire from the brandy had seeped into her blood.

  ‘Would you like a cupcake?’ she offered.

  ‘I’d love one, but I better not. You’d read me the riot act if I told you how many of those things I’ve eaten today.’

  ‘With Candy breaking down, it’s not like I didn’t have plenty to spare,’ she mumbled.

  His grin only widened.

  ‘Oh, okay!’ she snapped. ‘I’ll take the bait. How come are you so darn happy when my life is imploding around me?’

  He leaned towards her. ‘Let me lend you the money, Nell.’

  Her jaw dropped.

  ‘I have the funds. Doing your business plan, I’ve calculated how much you need.’ He named a sum. ‘I’ve more than enough in the kitty to cover it.’

  Her jaw dropped lower.

  ‘And, believe me, if there’s one person who can make a success out of a crazy Victorian teahouse, then, Princess, that person is you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT
<
br />   NELL STARED AT RICK. For a moment she didn’t know what to say. She moistened her lips. ‘I can’t let you risk your money like that.’

  ‘Taking risks is how I’ve made my money. As far as I’m concerned, this is the safest risk I’ve taken with it so far.’

  Did he mean that? For some reason his certainty only brought her insecurities rushing to the surface. ‘You can’t know that! You can’t know that I’ll pull this off. It may all end in disaster and—’

  ‘I’ve yet to meet anyone who works as hard as you.’

  His dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that dried her mouth and sent her heart twirling and jumping with the kind of exuberance that made it impossible to catch her breath.

  He rose, went to the sideboard and pulled the file containing all her clippings and notes from a drawer. ‘I stumbled across this last week. I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for string.’

  She swallowed and pointed. ‘Next drawer along.’

  ‘I know that now.’

  She stared at the folder and shrugged. ‘That’s just a whole bunch of pictures and ideas I’ve collected and...’ She trailed off.

  He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘It’s a whole lot more than that.’

  Okay, there were recipes and menus and table settings and names of businesses she might be able to use. There were colour schemes for Victorian houses, teapots, and anything else that had taken her fancy that she thought might prove inspirational for her own venture. She’d have to get a bigger folder soon because that one was bursting at the seams and she was adding to it all the time.

  ‘This helped me visualise your dream.’

  His hand on hers was warm and it seemed to be melting her from the inside out.

  ‘Rick, I—’

  ‘It made me see your Victorian teahouse wasn’t some last-ditch plan to save your skin, but...’

  She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip only tightened. ‘Nell?’

  She couldn’t resist him. Not when he said her name like that. She lifted her gaze to his.

  ‘This is a dream of long standing. It’s something you’ve thought long and hard about. You have the drive and the work ethic to make a success of this business.’

  His thumb stroked her wrist in lazy circles. She wanted to stretch and purr at his touch.

  ‘I’m cynical enough to know that’s not necessarily a recipe for success.’

  ‘Well, of course not,’ she said, because she had to say something and that slow circling of his thumb was addling her brain.

  ‘But you have an X factor.’

  His thumb stopped its stroking and the cessation added weight to his words.

  ‘An X factor?’ What on earth...? Had he had too much sun today?

  ‘Talent.’

  Everything inside her stilled.

  ‘Your cupcakes could make grown men weep.’

  ‘Oh, anyone can learn to do that.’ She pulled her hand from his to wave it in the air. She’d reclaimed it deliberately. Rick was treading on her dreams—admittedly very carefully—but if he suddenly became lead-footed she wasn’t sure she could bear it.

  He shook his head. ‘Nobody makes cupcakes like you. Why are you determined to dismiss that as if it’s of little value?’

  Not holding his hand didn’t help at all. She reached across the table to lace her fingers through his. ‘The thing is, Rick, it doesn’t actually seem like much. After twenty-five years of privileged living it seems the only talent I’ve acquired is to make cupcakes. I know they’re pretty good, but...’ She shrugged. As much as she tried to channel nonchalance, she’d never felt more naked in her life.

  ‘They’re not just good. They’re spectacular. They’re the kind of cupcakes people travel hundreds of kilometres for.’

  She laughed. ‘Now you’re just being silly.’

  ‘And you’re wrong. You’re good at lots of things. You’re running your own small business, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not very successfully if today is anything to go by.’

  ‘You troubleshot that.’

  He’d troubleshot that.

  ‘You have social poise and that’s rarer than you know. It’ll hold you in good stead as the face of the business when the teahouse is up and running—you’ll need it. You also have vision and courage and you’re not afraid of hard work or sacrifice.’

  She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand to forestall her. ‘Sorry, Princess, but you’re not going to talk me out of believing in you.’

  Unconsciously, her hand tightened in his. ‘You believe in me?’ she whispered.

  ‘Heart and soul.’

  Her heart leapt.

  ‘I believe in you so much I’m willing to lay out the money you need to get your business off the ground.’

  A lump the size of a teapot lodged in her throat. Nobody had ever told her they believed in her before.

  ‘So will you accept my loan and make this dream of yours a reality?’

  She really wanted to say yes, but the lump refused to dislodge. She stared at him and his face gentled as if he could read what was on her mind. He reached out his fingers as if to touch her cheek. She held her breath...

  He snapped away.

  They shook their hands free.

  Bad idea. Touching of any kind. They both knew it was a bad idea.

  ‘I’d best warn you, though, that there’ll be some stipulations that come with the loan.’

  Finally she was able to harness the strength to swallow deeply enough to clear her throat. ‘Like?’

  ‘It won’t be interest free.’

  ‘Of course not!’

  Though she had a feeling that was just a sop thrown to her pride. Still... ‘This can’t be charity, Rick. It’s business. I will be paying you back at business loan interest rates.’

  ‘You bet it’s business and I want it to succeed. It’s in my best interests that it succeeds, which is why I want you to drop back to three days on the road with Candy.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You need to start focusing some real energy on the new venture or call it quits right now.’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Between your weekend orders and three days out in Candy, you’ll still be making enough to live on while you get Whittaker House ready. Your personal expenses are incredibly low...for a princess.’

  They both knew her living expenses were incredibly low full stop. Circumstances demanded it. He might call her a princess but she lived like a pauper in her rundown castle.

  ‘And you’ll have the loan to cover the larger expenses like land rates and power bills.’

  He was taking a risk and he was demanding that she take a risk too.

  ‘Well?’

  Her heart thumped. ‘Yes, thank you, Rick. I would very much like to accept your offer.’

  * * *

  When Nell reached out a hand Rick shook it. He didn’t keep hold of it like he wanted, though. The more time he spent in her company the more he wanted to touch her.

  You only need to hold out for another couple of weeks. Once he found out the identity of his sibling he’d leave.

  And go where?

  Who cared? Just somewhere different where the people didn’t know him, where they didn’t whisper behind his back.

  Nell’s not like that.

  Yeah, but Nell was one in a million. The fierce gladness that had gripped him when she’d accepted his offer of a loan, though, had taken him off guard.

  But...

  It was just...

  The Princess deserved a break.

  He leaned back in his chair, assumed his usual swagger. ‘I’ll organise to have the funds transferred into your account early next week.’

  She pee
red down her nose at him. ‘You need to have a contract drawn up.’

  Whatever. He trusted her. His grin widened when she didn’t ask the question he could see burning in her face. ‘You’re just dying of curiosity, aren’t you?’

  She lifted her chin. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  He laughed. ‘You want to know how I came to have so much money.’

  He watched her manners wrestle with her curiosity.

  ‘Okay, you win. Yes, I do. I want to know how you came to have so much money that you can offer to help...’ her lips twisted ‘...damsels.’

  ‘You’re no damsel, Princess. If you were some helpless woman looking for a man to make it all right I wouldn’t still be here. Damsels are afraid of independence, hard work and taking risks. None of those things apply to you.’

  She leaned back and folded her arms. ‘It doesn’t answer the question of how you made your money, though, does it? Or why you live even more cheaply than I do.’ She frowned. ‘Are you lending me all of your money?’

  ‘No.’

  Behind the glorious green of her eyes her mind raced. ‘Have you left yourself enough money to cover emergencies and the like if they crop up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She pursed her lips and he almost laughed out loud when he realised she didn’t believe him. Did she really think he’d be as Sir Galahad as all that? The thought had him shifting on his chair.

  ‘What percentage of your savings have you just lent me?’

  And because he could see she was on the brink of pulling back he told her the truth. ‘About five per cent.’ And that was a conservative estimate. He had so much money he found it hard to keep specific figures in mind.

  She stared. She seized a pen and piece of paper and did the maths. She held up the amount she came up with.

  ‘That’d be about right.’

  ‘You’re a millionaire. Several times over.’

  It wasn’t a question so he didn’t say anything.

  She blew out a breath. ‘That’s a relief. I can stop worrying that I’ll be leaving you short.’

  Something muddied the green of her eyes. For reasons he couldn’t begin to explain, a bad taste coated his tongue. Was she going to try to hit him up for more money? Would she—