In the Boss's Castle

by Jessica Gilmore

  She picked up the brandy and took a hefty swig, coughing a little as the strong liquor hit the back of her throat. ‘Nothing happened, Kit. It’s just life is like this treasure hunt of yours. There are winners and there are losers and you should know by now, I really like to win.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘IS THIS WHAT you were hoping for? Because we can always duck out and do something else. Something that doesn’t take quite so long.’ Kit stared down at the programme, dismay written all over his face. ‘Three acts? Three.’

  ‘It’s less than three hours in total,’ Maddison looked around at the glittering sea of people and suppressed an excited shiver. ‘And it could be a lot worse. Just think, it could have been Wagner.’

  Kit shuddered dramatically. ‘I’m definitely not putting this in the guidebook.’

  His voice was a little loud and several heads turned disapprovingly. She elbowed him meaningfully. ‘It’s culture, you have to include it. You can’t assume everyone is going to be a philistine just because you are. Besides, you must have known what to expect. This can’t be your first opera.’

  ‘Oh, it can. It will also be my last,’ he said darkly. ‘I didn’t realize your cooperation would have quite so high a price. And I’m not just talking about the tickets—or these gin and tonics.’

  Maddison repressed a smile. He might be acting all grumpy, but Kit had gone well above and beyond their agreement. ‘Thank you.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I didn’t expect a gala night. This is really incredible.’ She managed to stop the next words tumbling out before her sophisticated girl-about-town image was well and truly blown, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from shining her gratitude. No one has ever done anything like this for me before...

  Maddison looked around for the umpteenth time, trying to keep her excitement locked down deep inside. Play it cool, Maddison Carter, you belong here. And tonight she really did. Kit hadn’t just brought her to the Royal Opera House, he’d gone all out and hired a box at a first-night gala performance of Madame Butterfly.

  The cause was fashionable, the tickets sought after and London’s great and good were out in force, the women’s jewels competing with the huge, dazzling chandeliers, the men in exquisitely cut tuxedos. It was like stepping back in time to Edwardian England—and she, Maddison Carter, was right in the middle of it. A real Buccaneer. She might not own any heirloom jewels, but the man on her arm was one of the most striking in the room and she had intercepted more than one envious glance in their direction.

  And everything was fine. She’d been worried on Monday that he would be careful with her, that her breakdown would change his attitude. It had been a relief when he had been his usual, slightly annoying self. In fact it was as if the weekend, the confidences, had never happened. Which was as it should be, because there had been moments when she had felt far too close to him, far too at ease.

  Far too attracted.

  Maddison sipped her drink, the sharp notes of the gin and tonic a relief. Where had that thought come from? Tunnels aside, she was having a good time with her extracurricular work, but treasure hunts and a heart to heart weren’t going to get her the happy-ever-after, all-American dream, were they? She needed to remember her goals: a good marriage, a family of her own, security—emotionally and financially.

  She took another sip. Tomorrow. She’d remember it tomorrow. It would be rude not to give her total concentration to the night ahead.

  ‘Do you actually like opera?’ Kit murmured in her ear, his breath warm, intimate, on her bare shoulder.

  She turned to face him, pushing the disquieting thoughts away. ‘I love it.’ He arched a disbelieving eyebrow and she laughed. ‘Honestly. I grew up with it. How could I not?’

  For the first time, discomfort twisted in her as she stretched the truth. She had grown up with opera, but not in the way she was implying.

  Every summer, Maddison would pick out the men she hoped were her long-lost father and watch them, waiting for recognition to spark in their eyes. Only it never did. They didn’t even notice her. The year she turned ten she’d spent the summer hanging out on the beach all day, pretending as usual that she belonged to one of the laughing, happy families enjoying their vacation by the sea. Pretend that any moment they would look up, see her and call her, pull her sand-covered body in close, wrap her in a towel, hand her an ice-cold drink while alternating between kisses and scolding her for straying so far away.

  It was so much better than the reality—an empty trailer and cold leftovers. If she was lucky.

  Her favourite families owned or rented houses right on the beach. As evening fell and the beach emptied she would sit in the dunes and watch them. And that was when she had first noticed him, the tall, broad man who lifted his daughter up with one hand, who spent hours constructing the perfect sandcastle, who sang opera as he grilled dinner for his family on the beach-house patio.

  She watched him every summer until the year she turned fourteen and realized that daydreams were never going to change anything.

  But she couldn’t shed the knowledge that if she’d lived with him, with somebody like him, with her real father, then maybe she would have had the childhood she wanted, the one she invented for herself as soon as she left Bayside: a childhood filled with singing arias, with ballet matinees and Saturday trips to the museum. The moment she hit New York she tried to re-create that childhood and fill in the gaps in her knowledge, spending her wages on cheap matinee seats up in the gods, museum tours, absorbing a childhood’s worth of culture.

  And it had brought her here, to the most glamorous place she had ever been in her entire life.

  Her little black-and-white dress might be on the demure side but it held its own, every perfect seam screaming its quality. She smoothed out the heavy material with a quiet prayer of gratitude to the woman who had hired Maddison as a maid, giving her a room when Maddison left home at sixteen. Thanks to Mrs Stanmeyer, Maddison had had the space and time to study her last two years at school—and her benefactress’s influence had secured Maddison a scholarship and bursary at a private liberal arts college in New Hampshire. In its ivy-covered buildings she’d both got her degree and reinvented herself.

  And she never forgot Mrs Stanmeyer’s advice: Maddison only bought the very best of everything. It meant her wardrobe was limited but it was timelessly classy and made to last. It allowed her to fit in anywhere.

  The past faded away as the music swelled and surrounded her. Every note exquisite, every aria a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the music take over, offering wordless thanks to the man in the beach house. He wasn’t Maddison’s real father, she knew that now—truthfully she’d known it then—but he’d given her a gift nonetheless. She might have had to train herself to appreciate this music, but her training wheels were long since discarded and she was all-in. Every atom of her.

  Finally the last lingering note died away and the audience was frozen in that delicious moment between performance and applause. Still tingling, Maddison turned to Kit. Had he hated it? Was he bored? She really hoped he got it.

  That he understood a part of her.

  His eyes were open and alert, which was a definite bonus; Bart liked to see and be seen doing culturally highbrow activities, but Maddison suspected if he could have got away with earplugs he would have—as it was she wasn’t convinced he didn’t snooze the best part of any performance away. Kit, however, was leaning forward, his arm on the balustrade and his eyes fixed onto the stage below.

  She couldn’t wait any longer. ‘So? Did you hate it? You hated it. If you’re bored we should go. Honestly...’

  Kit reached out and covered her gesturing hand with his, sparks igniting up and down her arm as his fingers clasped hers. ‘I wasn’t bored. I...I don’t know if I’m enjoying it exactly. I mean, offer me a trade for a sticky, beer-covered floor, some drums and guitars and a mosh
pit and I’d take it, but I have to admit I’m...’ he paused, raking a hand through his hair ‘...moved.’

  ‘That’s a start.’ The glow inside was gladness. She’d introduced him to something new, something life enhancing. It had nothing to do with the hand still holding hers, nothing at all. ‘Would you come again?’

  There was no pause this time. ‘Yes. Yes, I would.’ Surprise lit up his face as he spoke. ‘Wow, that was unexpected. I didn’t know I was going to say that.’ His fingers tightened, a cool clasp blazing a heated trail straight up her arm. ‘Thank you.’

  Maddison tried not to look at their entwined hands, not to behave as if this was in any way odd. ‘For what?’

  ‘For making me try something new.’ The words were simply said but his gaze held a barely concealed smoulder, one that ignited every nerve right down to her bare toes.

  ‘You’re very welcome.’ She tried to sound non-committal but couldn’t stop the soft smile curving her lips, couldn’t stop her eyelashes fluttering down in an unexpectedly shy gesture. What was going on? This wasn’t how she operated. She hadn’t tried to learn him by heart, hadn’t tried to mould herself into what she thought he wanted. She was being herself, as much as she ever could be, thinking of nothing but work and yet unexpectedly finding herself having fun.

  It had been a long time since fun had figured in her plans.

  By some unspoken mutual accord their hands unclasped as Kit ushered her from the box to collect their interval drinks.

  The corridors were buzzing with people, the bar even more so. Luckily there was no queuing; instead, here in the rarefied environs of the dress circle on a gala night, trays of champagne and canapés were circling amongst the chattering crowds. Kit neatly snagged two glasses off a passing waitress and passed one to Maddison, raising his own glass to her as he did so.

  ‘To trying new things.’ His eyes gleamed a bright blue in the glittering lights, a devilish glint flickering in the depths. Maddison’s mind whirled with confusion, with an unexpected, unwanted desire to press a little closer. For those eyes to look at her with even more heat, more devilry. Her dizziness increased as his eyes held hers, the rest of the room falling away.

  This was it, a dim, distant part of her analysed as she stood there, staring up at him. This was what attracted Camilla and her ilk to him, even though he warned them away, warned them that he wasn’t in it for the medium-term, let alone forever. But when he focused, really focused, he could make a girl feel as if she were the only person worth knowing in the room. The only person in the room.

  And yet she was pretty sure he didn’t do it on purpose; this was no practised trick, no calculated seductive move.

  That was what made it so dangerous, made him so very dangerous.

  Even she, mistress of her own heart and destiny, might get swept away. For a very little while.

  Or not... She was too seasoned a player to fold her hand at the first eye contact and warm, intimate glance. Maddison took a deep breath, stepping back, out of the seductive circle of his spell. ‘To new things,’ she agreed. ‘It’s the ballet next.’

  Kit smiled appreciatively. ‘Oh, no, it’s my turn to choose next and I quite fancy seeing the demure and always put-together Maddison Carter in a mosh pit. Up for it?’

  A what? Maddison opened her mouth to deliver what was definitely going to be a stinging retort as soon as she could think of one, when a languid hand draped itself on Kit’s shoulder, a statuesque middle-aged brunette spinning him around as she pressed a kiss onto his suddenly rigid cheek. Only a muscle beating in his jawline showed any emotion.

  Maddison shivered, suddenly chilled. Had they turned the air conditioning up? Hard to imagine how very warm she’d been just a few seconds before.

  ‘Kit, dearest. I thought it was you but Charles said I must be mistaken. Kit at the opera! And yet here you are...’

  Kit was still supremely still, only that pulsing muscle and the flash of anger in his eyes betraying any sign of life. ‘Not mistaken, Laura. Hello, Charles.’ He nodded over Laura’s shoulder at the tall, balding man behind her.

  ‘Gracious, Kit, last place I would have expected to see you. Not your usual style of thing.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed, his voice smooth. ‘It’s not. It is, however, very much Maddison’s style and so here you find me.’ He smoothly stepped out of Laura’s possessive clasp and took Maddison’s arm, ushering her forward, his hand holding her tight as if he feared she might run—or that he might. ‘Laura, Charles, this is Maddison Carter. Maddison, this is Charles and Laura Forsyth.’ He paused then before continuing, his voice still as urbanely smooth as the richest cream. ‘Eleanor’s parents.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you.’ Her words were as mechanical as her smile, Maddison’s mind sprinting ahead as she watched Laura Forsyth’s unsubtle summing up. Maddison held her chin up, as unconcerned as if she hadn’t noticed the slow appraisal; she had nothing to hide, clothes-wise at least. Her outfit might be demure but the quality was unmistakable.

  ‘American? How long are you over for? So nice of Kit to take you around.’

  Maddison’s eyes narrowed at the thinly hidden derisive note in the older woman’s voice. Did Laura Forsyth think she could be put down so easily? It had been a long time since Maddison had allowed herself to be dismissed in a couple of sentences.

  She would wipe that smile right off Mrs Forsyth’s suspiciously wrinkle-free face.

  Maddison plastered a bright smile on to her own naturally wrinkle-free thank you very much face and moved even closer to Kit, slipping under his arm, her own snaking round his waist as she turned to him. ‘Isn’t it? Kit’s being very hospitable.’ Maddison laid an extra-slow drawl onto the last two words, filling them with an unmistakable innuendo, and felt him quiver but whether it was with humour or anger she had no idea.

  What the heck was she doing? Had she taken leave of her senses? She picked now to lose her temper, to behave spontaneously? It was going to look great on her résumé when Kit fired her. Reason for dismissal? Inappropriate temptress at the opera.

  The older woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘He always was good-hearted, weren’t you, Kit? Eleanor always said you put yourself out for others. We will be seeing you next week, won’t we? It would mean a lot to Eleanor. After all, you’re still family. I had hoped that, well, never mind that now. But for Euan’s sake, Kit, you should come to her wedding.’ Her eyes flickered towards Maddison. ‘You are welcome to bring a guest, of course.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Laura. I am very busy and we weren’t sure we could spare the time, were we, Maddison? But it would be a shame not to show you Scotland while you’re here. So, thank you, Laura. We’d love to accept. Please do pass my apologies on to Eleanor for taking so long to respond.’

  We? Hang on a second. Maddison worked to keep her smile in place. He was calling Laura Forsyth’s bluff, surely. He didn’t actually expect Maddison to attend a wedding in Scotland. With him. With his whole family. His ex-girlfriend and dead brother’s widow’s wedding. Did he?

  There weren’t enough opera tickets in the world.

  The smile faltered on Laura Forsyth’s face. ‘How lovely. Eleanor will be delighted. We’d better get on. Charles has clients here. I’ll see you—both—next weekend.’ She kissed Kit again before disappearing into the crowd.

  Maddison freed herself and rounded on Kit. He looked completely unruffled.

  She folded her arms and glared at him. ‘What did you just do?’

  ‘Accepted the wedding invitation.’ How could he look so calm and so darn amused? Did he think this was funny? ‘After all, you’ve been reminding me to for weeks. I thought you’d be pleased.’

  Thought she’d be what? ‘I don’t care whether you go or not, I just wanted you to decide either way and for the many, many phone calls to stop. I wanted you to make a decision for you. Not for
me! Why did you do that? Now she’ll think that I... That we...’

  ‘She thought that the second you cosied into me. It wouldn’t have been gentlemanly of me to push you away and explain that, sorry, you were my over-familiar assistant, and once she had included you in the invitation it seemed rude to accept for just me.’

  Okay, she had been the one pressing in close in a proprietary fashion. ‘I shouldn’t have...’ how had he put it? ‘...cosied into you like that. It was silly. It was just the way she looked at me. I got mad.’ This was why she kept her temper, her feelings, under close control—usually, at least. Look what trouble acting impulsively could do.

  ‘Apology accepted.’ Maddison nearly choked at his smooth words. ‘And now you’ve accepted responsibility for the whole situation you can see it’s too late to backtrack now.’ His mouth curved wickedly and she didn’t know whether she wanted to wipe the smile off his face—or kiss it off.

  Wipe, definitely wipe.

  ‘Too late? I could have had plans. I might have plans.’ Kit shot her a knowing look and Maddison scowled. ‘Okay, I don’t have plans but she doesn’t know that. Just tell her I mixed up my dates. Or I’m ill. Or I had to leave the country.’

  ‘Or you could just come with me.’

  Maddison stilled. ‘Why?’

  Kit shrugged. ‘Why not? Scotland is beautiful, especially at this time of year, and you really should see more of the UK than just London.’

  ‘Your family will be there.’

  ‘That’s okay, they don’t bite. You’ll be doing me a favour, actually. I think I mentioned that I don’t go back often. It can be a little intense. Your presence will relax things a little.’

  ‘You want me to come along to act as a buffer between you and your parents?’

  ‘I said no such thing. You speak to my mother more than I do. She’ll be delighted to meet you at last.’