The Duchess Contest: A Jet City Billionaire Serial Romance (The Billionaire Duke Series Book 2)

by Robinson, Gina

  My heart sank. My smile froze on my face as I watched Lady Rose accept Riggins' request. She set the phone down with her long, slim fingers, elegantly manicured.

  It had barely touched the table when it buzzed again. She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Oh, lovely. He's just PMed me."

  I watched in horror as she responded. She'd barely finished typing when her phone nearly simultaneously buzzed with a text. Her smile could only be described as radiant. "The duke would like to take me out to dinner while I'm in town. Is this evening too early?" She gave a sly look toward a camera pointed at us through the window.

  Tonight! What was he doing? Hovering by his phone with bated breath waiting for her response. Crap.

  Lady Rose had just gotten the text I'd been expecting. She, who had no scruples about interrupting our conversation to take a text, had breezed into town and stolen my day-after-a-first-date text in less than half an hour.

  I smelled a very clever setup. Lady Rose was obviously a genius at using media to get what she wanted. How would a little introverted amateur like me ever compete with her?

  My heart sank. I was losing Riggins already. And the crowd in the bakery, too.

  Mary swooped in with a carafe of ice water to refresh our glasses. If looks could kill, Lady Rose would be wet, if not dead. I knew what Mary was thinking—an accidental spill in Lady Rose's beautiful lap would cool her off. But not on camera. Mary couldn't fumble the water in front of the world and give herself and the bakery a bad rep.

  As I itched to call Mr. Thorne, I wondered when this media circus would end.

  Just as I was about to lose it, the door to the bakery swung open. A florist strode in carrying a long box that usually meant long-stemmed roses. My heart fell all the way to the basement as he headed toward our table. Riggins had been so fast on the getting of Lady Rose's number. Was he equally fast on speed dial to the florist.

  Again, there was a collective holding of breath as all eyes and cameras were on the delivery woman. Lady Rose fixed a happy, expectant look of delight on her face. I paled as the florist stopped in front of our table as if she knew exactly what her quarry looked like.

  She looked directly at me, ignoring Lady Rose. "Haley Hamilton?"

  I nodded.

  The florist's smile was bright. "For you."

  Stunned, I took the box and opened it. A dozen red roses wrapped in tissue. A card was on top.

  Thanks for a wonderful evening. When can I see you again?

  Riggins

  Chapter 4

  Haley

  Forget politeness. If Lady Rose could hang on her phone, I could use mine. I wasted no time pulling my phone out and texting him my heartfelt thanks. The paparazzi went wild snapping photos of me beaming with the roses, including Lady Rose.

  The roses are beautiful. Thanks. My calendar's open. I hear yours is booked for tonight.

  Maybe that was dumb. Or maybe it was a gutsy move. I only knew I had to let him know I had his number.

  He texted back. That's just an obligation. Sunday afternoon? One? I'll pick you up.

  I replied, Fabulous. It's a date.

  My heart continued to sing, laugh, and soar. He was only seeing Lady Rose out of obligation. I hoped it was true.

  My roses upset the lady. Not to mention the rapidly flying texts. Even though I didn't say who to, she knew.

  She tried not to let on, but clearly her upper hand had crumbled. She became so flustered, she almost accidentally put my coffee cup into her purse. She would have, in fact, if Mary hadn't startled her and sent the cup crashing to the floor.

  The tweets immediately began flying. Lady Rose rattled as Riggins roses American relative.

  It had nice alliteration, but was the meaning clear?

  Mary cleaned up the mess and our table, clearing everything away before Lady Rose could make any more mistakes.

  "That woman is a klepto," Mary said after Lady Rose left.

  "No, I don't think so. Why would she steal a cheap white ceramic, café-issue coffee cup?" I said. "There's no point. She was just tired."

  "I don't trust her." Mary's jaw was set.

  "She was perfectly pleasant." My instincts were the same as Mary's. I didn't trust her, either.

  Steve let me off early. I wasted no time arranging a meeting with Mr. Thorne as soon as my break ended and Rose left the bakery.

  I had no idea what Riggins' game was as I walked into the lobby of Mr. Thorne's hotel, looking for the Englishman. Did Riggins want me? Or want me not? All I knew for sure were that the roses made me ridiculously happy and the symbolism wasn't lost on me. Red roses. Love. Passion. He'd sent me roses and ignored Rose. That had to mean something. At least that we were still allies.

  Was he merely continuing the public charade? The fairytale courtship? What about asking Rose to dinner? Merely a friendly gesture? Or checking her out for duchess potential?

  The lobby of the downtown hotel where Mr. Thorne was staying was high-end and decorated with glistening surfaces and sparkling crystal chandeliers. I found Mr. Thorne seated in a plush chair, waiting for me.

  He stood when I approached. "Miss Hamilton." He extended his arm, offering a chair cozily positioned for conversation opposite him.

  “Can we talk freely here?”

  Thorne nodded.

  I got right to the point. "You know why I'm here. What's this about another heir to the late Helen Feldhem coming forward?" I was unable to think of anything else. "How does this affect me and the terms of the late duke's will?" My heart pounded out of control.

  It seemed like lately I was playing game after game of "on the other hand." On the one hand, everything was at stake. On the other, I could be back to where I'd been just over a week ago before I'd ever heard anything about the Dead Duke's death and will. I could go back to normal life. If only I didn't have to worry about Sid. If only I'd never been on a date with Riggins.

  Mr. Thorne looked at me kindly. "If her claim is proven and she is, indeed, descended from the late duchess, the duke will be free to chose her as his duchess and all terms will apply."

  "If?" I said. "There's some doubt?"

  "Her claim was authenticated by a reality television show. Not, perhaps, the most reliable of sources. Particularly since the show's aim is to be sensational and attract viewers.

  "My investigators are reviewing her claim and documentation now. But it may take a while. The paper trail is long. And in any ancestral search, the sources can be murky. Making sure the sources are authentic and unaltered is essential and time consuming."

  "How long?" I asked.

  "Hopefully not longer than three weeks." Mr. Thorne looked sympathetic and almost wry. "There's nothing in the late duke's will that I can find that allows for delays." He paused and cleared his throat. "You could speed the process up considerably."

  "Oh?" His statement startled me. "How?"

  "By offering up a sample of your DNA. We have no genetic material from the late duchess herself. However, your documentation is sound. We know for a fact that you're descended from Helen Feldhem through her sister, who is your great-grandmother. We could match the genetic markers between you and Lady Rose to see if you are, as she claims, family."

  He paused again, almost delicately. "I can't compel you, obviously. The decision is yours."

  I frowned, my heart pounding wildly. What to do?

  "Would you recommend it?" I sensed an ally in Mr. Thorne or I wouldn't have asked.

  "That depends on what you want." His eyes were kind. "As the solicitor for the late duke, it's my responsibility to ask you for a sample. And yet, at the same time, I know you were the late duke's choice of duchess. For more reasons than your DNA."

  He stopped himself. "I'm not at liberty to say more. Only that the late duke believed that you will make the perfect Duchess of Witham and be a good match for his successor. If you would have been unsuitable, and the late duke was very particular, even though he believed you were the late duchess' last descendant,
he would have abandoned his notion of making one of Helen's descendants the duchess and found someone who was suitable.

  "Lady Rose, whatever her basic qualifications may be, was not chosen by the late duke, who was a studious and intelligent, thoughtful man.

  "If you willingly give us a sample of your DNA, you may put the matter to rest whether her claim is valid. And open yourself up to her as the competition.

  "Alternately, you may expose her as an 'unintentional' fraud and put the matter of any contest by her aside. How much risk are you willing to assume? Do you want to take the chance and give her an opening? That decision is ultimately yours and only yours. I would caution you, however, to think through your choices carefully."

  I nodded, grateful to Mr. Thorne for his candor. Thankful to have an ally. How much of a gambler was I?

  "Is there any way Lady Rose could contest the will and compel me to give DNA?"

  Mr. Thorne considered the question. "She may have legal grounds. But that would take time. It's further complicated by the international aspect of the case.

  "You could appeal and fight it, stringing it out indefinitely. Longer than three weeks, I would imagine, if you cared to. You have the power, I believe, to force the duke to choose the safer course—you. There's no provision in the will for changing the time restriction."

  I nodded, thinking things through. "Does Lady Rose know the terms of the will?" I had my suspicions that she did.

  "As far as I know, no. I haven't released the terms to anyone besides you and the duke. Nor have I been approached by any other legal counsel."

  We sat in silence a moment as I digested the news.

  "I need a lawyer. But I have no idea who to contact. And no money to pay them."

  "If you permit, I can make several recommendations. With your financial prospects, you should be able to arrange a payment agreement."

  "You mean I find myself an ambulance chaser?" I grinned.

  He grinned back. "I believe the correct term is a solicitor who works on contingency."

  Riggins

  Lady Rose sat across the dinner table from me, looking perfectly put together and gorgeous. Our picture had been snapped roughly three hundred and forty-two times already and we'd hadn't even gotten our water. Appetizers and drinks were still on their way. But who was counting?

  She seemed unfazed by the attention. Instead she lapped it up. Talk about extroverted and getting energy from human interaction. What was the word for being energized by social media attention? Besides media whore?

  "Having the paparazzi around constantly doesn't bother you?" I stared deeply into her eyes. She definitely handled the press and attention differently than Haley.

  Lady Rose shrugged her pale, slim shoulders. "I can't fight them. It only wastes energy being unhappy about them. So why not enjoy them?"

  I lifted an eyebrow. "Here in Seattle the press generally respects our privacy."

  "What's the fun in that?" Her dark eyes sparkled.

  A waiter set two glasses of ice water with lemon in front of us and a glass of wine for Lady Rose, a martini for me.

  "So what do I call you?" I asked. "Lady Rose seems too formal. Or am I wrong?"

  She laughed again, her beautiful, cultured laugh. "You're a duke. You can call me whatever you like. But Rose will do."

  "All right then, Rose." I smiled at her. "And I prefer Riggins, not Duke. Or Witham."

  "Now we have that settled." She leaned toward me, staring into my eyes in the candlelight as if hanging on my every word.

  "You heard about Haley and hopped on a plane here immediately? Did I get that right? You're impetuous?" I wanted to rattle her. How composed was she? How much of her true intentions would she give away?

  "You make that sound like a bad thing." She licked her lips. "Maybe I just know what I want."

  Before I could question her further, the waiter appeared to take our order.

  Rose turned her luminous eyes on me. "What's good here?"

  I'd taken her to a restaurant famed for its Pacific Northwest cuisine. "Anything salmon. You can't go wrong."

  She made her selection.

  I made mine. The waiter disappeared.

  "Before I was interrupted, I was going to ask you what it is you want." I smiled softly at her.

  "Very direct." She took a sip of wine, gazing at me over the rim of her glass.

  "In my business, I have to be. Isn't it a fair topic for small talk and getting to know each other? Knowing what you want helps me know you."

  "Knowing what I want out of life, do you mean?" Her voice was silky, calculatedly so, I decided.

  She was polished and charming. She had charisma. She was also hot in her elegant, low-cut, shimmering sheath dress. I should have been completely mesmerized. Why wasn't I? Why was I only partially enthralled? And equally leery.

  "You tell me. You're the one who brought it up."

  There was that seductive smile again. "I'm afraid of wittering on and boring you."

  "I very much doubt you could bore me." I gave her my full attention. "I'm easily entertained."

  Our appetizers arrived, halting conversation for the moment. When the waiter left again, Rose delicately plucked a crab cake from the plate in the center of table, dipped it in aioli, and glanced around the room.

  "You're an observant, intelligent man. I believe you know what I want, Riggins. Why I hurried here." She set her appetizer fork down and leaned forward toward me, intimately lowering her voice. "It's no secret—I want to be your duchess."

  I stared at her. "Am I supposed to be shocked by your frank admission?"

  "Not at all. I believe in being direct."

  "You're putting yourself out there as the first British candidate for the job?"

  "I'm highly qualified. And I have the backing of a nation behind me."

  I nodded. "A plane full of aspiring duchesses is arriving from Britain on Monday. I'll soon have my choice of hundreds of hopefuls." Was she just another opportunist? Or did she know how potentially eminently qualified she was?

  "None of them have the vital qualification I do." She paused, looking me in the eye. "I believe we both know what I'm talking about."

  She was being mysterious. I didn't want to tip my hand. She could be referring to her rearing and aristocratic status.

  "I hope you don't believe everything you hear in the news? To the contrary, I'm in no rush to marry and procreate, as they seem to believe."

  "I wouldn't believe something as unreliable as the tabloids." There was that smile again and the forward lean. She took my hand where it rested on the table and looked me intimately in the eye as she stroked the side of my hand with her thumb. "I know all about the will, Riggins. All about it. Every detail."

  I kept my composure, keeping my expression masked. "Do you? Enlighten me."

  She held my gaze. "Not here. The walls have ears. In private."

  She slid her foot between mine beneath the table and lifted the hem of my slacks with the toe of her shoe, still smiling. "I'll give you my terms. I want to do everything I can to make you happy…with your deal. But first, let's enjoy our dinner and get to know each other. We're almost family, really."

  "All right, then," I said. "After-dinner drinks are at my place."

  Haley

  There was one good and, at the same time, horribly bad thing about Riggins' and Rose's celebrity status. I could spy on them without leaving the comfort of wherever I wanted to be. All I needed was my phone and my social media apps.

  As it turned out, I was at home. Watching TV with Sid. With my bouquet of red roses on the stand next to me to remind me that Riggins wanted to see me again. Sid and I had gone over and over all the possible meanings of the roses. And my conversation with Mr. Thorne.

  "No DNA. Don't give her that. No way! Not if you want him. Not if you want that lifestyle." Sid was adamant. Fierce to the point her eyes flashed and her voice rose.

  Fortunately, our roomies were out for the evening, so we c
ould talk freely.

  "But isn't it only fair and right?" I said, once again playing the righteous good girl. "Shouldn't Riggins have the choice, if there is one? How would I feel knowing I'd tricked him into marriage by denying him the chance with Rose? Maybe the two of them will be perfect together. She's much better suited to that life than I am. Do you see how gorgeous they look together—"

  Sid shook her head. "No way. Just no. Do you want to hand him over to a gold digger? And how is it tricking him into marriage when the Dead Duke forced you into this situation in the first place? Nothing you could do could be called trickery."

  I shrugged. She made a good point.

  "If the situation was reversed, don't you think Lady Rose would do everything in her power to keep you from being a contender?"

  "But I'm not her. I have to do what's right."

  "But what's right in this situation, Hale? Seriously, where's the moral high ground here and why pursue it?"

  I sighed.

  "And what about Lady Rose and her accidental kleptomania at the Blackberry?" Sid touched my arm. "You want to know what I think? She was trying to steal the cup to get your DNA.

  "She tricked you into having coffee with her and it was just her bad luck you didn't choose a paper cup she could steal. They do it all the time on the cop shows—trick a crook into drinking a cup of coffee and tossing it away for them to steal and mine for DNA."

  I had considered that, actually. "The thought crossed my mind."

  Sid nodded, vehement. "Exactly. She's playing hardball while acting all sweet and sentimental. See how quickly she got a dinner invitation with Riggins? All of this is anything but accidental. She's a cold, calculating bitch."

  Sid tightened her grip on my arm. "You have to be careful, very careful around her. She's a DNA thief. If she gets a chance, she'll steal yours. All she needs are a few strands of your hair or a bit of your saliva on something. Watch yourself, Hale. Stay away from her."

  I nodded. "Maybe you're right—"

  "Of course I am!" She hugged me. "Now get over your guilt and resign yourself to protecting Riggins and his dukedom from the clutches of a conniving woman. In the meantime—duchess lessons!"