Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate

by Nina Milne

  The memory of their kiss seared her with a burn that increased the closer he was. Which, perversely, was the reason for her agreement to spend time with him. For the first time in over a decade Kaitlin was not in control of an emotion and, dammit, she loathed that sensation. So she would learn to subdue this unwanted attraction. Just as she had subdued panic, anger, anxiety...insert emotion here.

  Once they’d negotiated Customs a man bustled towards them, a beaming smile on his face. ‘Signor Harrington and Signora Derwent. I am Roberto, and I am delighted to welcome you on behalf of the hotel. But first—the press have contacted us, requesting to see you on your arrival. Of course if you do not wish it we will ensure your arrival is kept private...’

  Kaitlin kept her expression neutral, though her brain whirred furiously. There had been no scheduled press meeting, yet they couldn’t forego a chance of extra publicity for the ball.

  Daniel had clearly come to the same conclusion. ‘We’ll do a brief meet-and-greet.’

  ‘Very well. Now, come with me, for I have arranged for you to travel to the hotel by water taxi. We have our own private jetty at the palazzo.’

  Just what she needed. But no way could she disappoint Roberto’s expectant smile. ‘That sounds wonderful, signor—you have my utmost thanks.’

  Within minutes Roberto had driven them to a boathouse, where they boarded a polished wood-panelled boat. Averting her eyes from the water, Kaitlin climbed in, aware of Daniel’s watchful gaze.

  ‘Have a wonderful journey. I will meet you at the hotel.’

  Once Roberto had gone, Daniel questioned her. ‘Is this a problem? There are other ways of getting to the hotel.’

  ‘I know that.’ Ferry, bus, train... She’d researched them all. ‘But it would have been rude and provoked questions to refuse this. Anyway, I’ll be fine—it’s not as if I can fall in.’

  Kaitlin perched on the cream leather seat and watched as Daniel settled opposite her. Those blue eyes held a hint of scepticism and she forced herself to lean back, though nothing could have compelled her to actually look out of the window as the boat set off.

  To her relief Daniel maintained a flow of conversation, including a potted history of Venice, so all she had to do was listen.

  As she focused on his voice and concentrated on memorising the facts she felt better. Perhaps more than anything his sheer presence helped—the solid, reassuring strength of him. Which didn’t make sense. The Prince had never made her feel like this. Even Gabe, her big brother, didn’t have this effect on her.

  Ugh. Gritting her teeth, Kaitlin shifted ever so slightly away from him. Her treacherous body could not be so foolish as to trust in Daniel Harrington—a man she would never see again after this trip to Venice. Though perhaps in that case she might as well make use of him whilst she could—after all, the most important imperative was to get through this ride.

  Eventually they neared their destination and she began to prepare for the press conference. The water taxi glided between the bright mooring poles that demarcated the hotel’s boat deck and she braced herself for the bevy of reporters standing on the wooden slats.

  As she alighted her relief at feeling dry land underfoot was matched by trepidation as her finely honed publicity antennae tuned into an undercurrent. These reporters had an anticipatory air about them—which could only mean one thing.

  ‘They’ve got something,’ she murmured to Daniel as foreboding tickled her nerves.

  Surely no one could have glimpsed that kiss?

  ‘So, Kaitlin, can you shed any light on why Prince Frederick has made an unannounced trip to India?’

  Careful.

  Her brain clicked and whirred, joined the dots and anticipated the next volley even as her lips turned up in the trademark Kaitlin smile.

  ‘No, that’s news to me as well.’

  ‘Do you think there could be a link to Sunita?’

  The model and Bollywood actress known only as Sunita had been linked to Frederick, but as far as Kaitlin knew she had been one of Frederick’s many short-term liaisons with beautiful women, with nothing in particular to distinguish her from any other.

  ‘I really couldn’t comment on that.’

  ‘So there is no connection to your break-up?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps the best person to ask that question of would be Sunita. Or even the Prince himself.’

  Daniel’s interruption turned the attention to him and April Fotherington stepped forward, her eyes darting from Daniel to Kaitlin with curiosity.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. So let’s discuss the past few days. How was your stay in that lovely cottage on the Caledonian Canal? I heard it was quite cosy.’

  It was a shot in the dark—Kaitlin knew that—yet she also knew she had given the smallest of tell-tale flinches. Dammit—Daniel had been right. They needed to eradicate whatever signals of awkwardness they exuded.

  ‘I’d hardly describe a three-bedroom property, however picturesque, as “cosy”.’ Daniel’s voice held exactly the right mix of amusement and derision. ‘I know you all want to sell copy, and I get it that that means you want to believe there is an angle here, but there isn’t. Kaitlin and I want this week to be about the Caversham Foundation—so if you want a different type of story then I repeat: go and find Prince Frederick and Sunita and try your luck there.’

  Outrage swirled inside Kaitlin at the realisation that he’d thrown Frederick to the wolves even as she acknowledged that it appeared to have worked. The reporters had turned their questions to the upcoming ball. So, smile in place, she answered questions about the guest list, her outfit and her shoes, all the time aware that April in particular was watching her with speculation.

  Once the press had dispersed they made their way into the sanctuary of the hotel—where Kaitlin stopped short at the sight of the lobby’s sheer elegant magnificence. The pink and white chequered floor, the marble busts that lined the walls and the enormous lantern that dominated the ceiling all combined to create an opulence that inspired awe.

  Two hotel staff glided towards them, one bearing a tray with two flutes of sparkling amber liquid. ‘To refresh you after the journey,’ one murmured.

  Within seconds, almost without knowing how it had happened, she and Daniel were seated on chairs of extraordinary comfort and Roberto had materialised in front of them.

  ‘Welcome. Your suite is of course ready—two en-suite double bedrooms, with a sitting room in between for you to work. I hope that is acceptable—we accommodated Signora Derwent at late notice.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ Kaitlin lied as she stemmed a panic of a different type. A suite sounded too...close.

  For heaven’s sake.

  They would be separated by a lounge, and she knew that the rooms in this hotel were positively palatial. Yet a quick sideways glance at Daniel showed a definite tension to his jaw—hard to figure whether that should make her feel better or worse.

  ‘I will take you up, and on the way I will give you a brief tour,’ Roberto continued, pride clear in his voice. ‘The hotel is truly worthy of a grand tour. It was built in the sixteenth century as a palazzo and we have changed as little as possible of its splendour—whilst of course incorporating maximum twenty-first-century comfort and amenities.’

  As they followed Roberto to the grand sweeping curve of the staircase and through a maze of passageways and public rooms it seemed clear that he hadn’t exaggerated. The restoration was a timeless fusion of old and new, the colour schemes a tribute to taste. Historic murals and frescoes were subtly showcased, the library felt heavy with knowledge, and yet the overall impression was one of elegant, gorgeous comfort.

  Then they came to their suite, and Roberto stopped at the door and handed them two ornate iron keys. ‘One last item—we have arranged complimentary tickets for a private
tour of the Doge’s Palace today. Tomorrow we will meet to show you all the arrangements for the ball.’ A small bow and he turned and headed back to the staircase.

  For a moment they both stood in the panelled passageway and eyed the door, before Daniel swiped a hand down his face and stepped forward. ‘Shall we?’

  She followed him through and her eyes widened as she looked around the lounge. ‘Wow!’

  But Daniel didn’t seem inclined to view the authentic silk wall coverings, or to ooh and ah over the sixteenth-century architecture, or even the intricate splendour of the chandelier.

  Instead he leant back against the wall and surveyed her. ‘Is it likely that Prince Frederick is with Sunita?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t you care?’

  The thought caused a mix of emotions. The sensation of a weight lifted from her shoulders, alongside a ripple of fear of the unknown... ‘If you mean am I hurt or jealous? Then, no, I’m not.’

  A lightning-fast thought shot through her head—an image of Daniel with a woman—and to her surprise her hands clenched involuntarily. Of course that wasn’t what Daniel meant—he wouldn’t be interested in her emotional state.

  Time to retrieve the gaffe.

  ‘In terms of how the publicity will affect the ball—I don’t know. I don’t think the press will lose interest in me, but you’re right. It depends on whether the story is true. Either way I think it’s win-win for us. If he is with Sunita they will still want my reaction. If he isn’t we haven’t lost anything. Right now I’m more concerned about April Fotherington. So let’s hope you’re right—the more time we spend together the less awkward our body language will become.’

  Though now she came to think about it that didn’t make a vast amount of sense. But no matter—there was no choice.

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Anyway, I’m going to unpack and settle in before the Doge’s Palace tour.’

  Once in her room Kaitlin sat on the edge of her sumptuous king-sized bed and took a moment to appreciate the room’s baroque splendour. Gold and gilt and intricate plasterwork was offset by the minimalist functional furniture, the heavy curtains that would guarantee a good night’s sleep.

  For a moment she was tempted to lie back and simply study the ceiling, adorned with the beauty of a painting by one of Venice’s best-known artists centuries before. To shut herself in this sanctuary of a room—away from the tumultuous feelings Daniel evoked, away from the panic it was becoming harder to keep at bay—and admit it was all too much. That she’d bitten off more than she could fit in her mouth, let alone chew.

  No! That was not her way. So instead, with resolution, she walked to the window and looked out—perhaps if she looked around from the safety of her room she could at least acclimatise herself?

  But seconds later she propelled herself backwards, her senses reeling as panic slammed her. Unfamiliarity surrounded her—but, worse, everywhere she looked there was water.

  Tendrils of memory unfurled and clamped her in a stranglehold of panic. The rough, grating tone of the kidnappers, the heart wrenching terror, the conviction that they would drown her. The blindfold...their chilling description of exactly what would happen to her as she drowned... The humiliation of her own voice begging, promising to do as they said.

  Not now. These memories could not resurface now.

  She backed further away from the window, hauled in a breath and perched on the end of the bed. She closed her eyes and tried to call up peaceful, safe thoughts.

  ‘Kaitlin?’

  Daniel’s deep voice pervaded her meditation and she opened her eyes.

  ‘I knocked three times. I was worried. Are you ready to go?’

  Realisation hit her that she couldn’t do it; she’d shot her bolt, thrown in the towel—you name it, she’d done it.

  ‘Actually, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll give it a miss.’ Rising to her feet she tried to project cool assurance.

  ‘“Give it a miss”? A private tour round the Doge’s Palace your first time in Venice?’ His voice registered utter disbelief. ‘Are you nuts?’

  ‘No. It’s been a tiring few days, and I want to conserve my energy for the ball and the preparations.’ Turning, she shook her hair slightly forward. ‘But you go.’

  A frown, and then he shrugged. ‘OK. But I think you’re making a mistake. The Doge’s Palace epitomises Venice at the height of its power—every single one of Venice’s greatest painters and sculptors is represented somewhere. That palace is where history was made.’

  A solitary tear prickled at her eyelid—damn it, she wanted to go. Wanted to experience Venice, see the splendour of what he described with such fervour. But how could she risk being overtaken by panic in the cobbled streets? Or even in the immensity of the palace itself? And panic was imminent—she sensed it.

  ‘You go,’ she repeated.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DANIEL REACHED THE door of the suite, opened it and exited into the corridor. If Kaitlin truly wanted to pass up this opportunity then that was her choice. That was what he believed in—the power of choice. Yet her decision stung more than it should.

  Don’t make this personal.

  Because his lawyer’s instinct told him that Kaitlin had withheld information. Impossible that the woman who had embraced the Highlands, who worked in an art gallery, wouldn’t want to go to the Doge’s Palace.

  Not his business.

  Yes, it was.

  He turned round and retraced his steps, re-entered the suite and banged a perfunctory knock on her bedroom door.

  A few seconds later Kaitlin peered out and surprise widened her green eyes. ‘Did you forget something?’

  ‘Yes, I did. I forgot you.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You need to come to the palace. Think how it will look to Roberto, to the guests at the ball, when they hear you passed up this chance. If it’s because you don’t want my company I’d rather you went and I stayed here—I’ve seen the palace before.’

  ‘It’s fine, Daniel. I told you to go.’

  ‘Nope.’ Daniel sat down in an armchair and stretched his legs out.

  ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘Sitting.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m not going to the Doge’s Palace unless you come with me or explain why you won’t.’

  Her mouth formed a small circle of outrage. ‘That is ridiculous. It’s daft for us both to miss out.’

  A frown creased her forehead as she realised the impact of her words.

  ‘So you admit you’re missing out?’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Not till you explain.’

  Indecision etched her face and her hands smoothed the skirt of her dress, her fingers outlining first one printed blue flower then another, and then she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  And it did. As he looked at her he could see hurt in the strain that lined the green of her eyes and the uncharacteristic slump to her posture.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Leave it, Daniel. It’s not important.’

  ‘It is to me.’

  ‘Why?’ The syllable was tart, almost a challenge. ‘If you’re worried that it will impact the ball, it won’t. I’ll come up with a plausible reason.’

  ‘I don’t care about the ball. I care about—’

  You? No.

  ‘I care about the fact that a colleague of mine will miss out on an opportunity to experience something wonderful. Plus, I believe that you want to go. So what’s stopping you?’

  ‘It’s personal, and you and I don’t do personal.’

  Of course he knew he should leave it, but he couldn’t—the knowledge that he was near to an important tr
uth was something he couldn’t ignore or impede.

  ‘Maybe we should change that.’

  She shook her head, and a short, mirthless laugh dropped from her lips. ‘By which you mean I should share something personal with you, not vice versa.’

  The truth caused heat to warm the back of his neck. Touché. Now he really needed to back off. But the glint in her eye, the challenge, brought out the advocate in him.

  ‘I can do personal. I just choose not to. You don’t do personal because you don’t trust anyone. You think if you confide in me I may use the information—go public, tell the reporters... I won’t. You have already trusted me with Barcelona—why not go a step further?’

  ‘Why does it matter to you?’

  ‘Because I want you to see the Doge’s Palace.’

  Keep it casual.

  ‘And you think that if I confide in you the issue will go away?’

  ‘It’s worth a shot.’

  A long silence and then, ‘It won’t, but you’re right. You already have so much power over me, one more item is neither here nor there.’ Hands in her lap, she took in an audible breath before saying, ‘I suffer from panic attacks.’

  The words took a couple of seconds to register—given the serenity and calm for which Kaitlin was famed, they seemed incredible. But then he remembered Barcelona—his first glimpse of ‘Lynette’—remembered Kaitlin’s frenzy when she’d fallen into the water, her over-the-top preparations for Scotland and Venice. Admiration touched him at her courage in taking on both places.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Kaitlin. I wish I could say more, but it makes everything you have achieved even more impressive.’ He rose to his feet, squashed the urge to go and sit next to her, put an arm around her and tell her he’d make it all OK, and started to pace instead. ‘I’m guessing water and new places trigger the attacks?’

  ‘Anything can trigger the attacks.’ There was bitterness and resignation in her tone. ‘But, yes, I find unfamiliar places overwhelming—and as for water...I do my best to avoid it.’

  ‘Is that what you’ve been advised to do? Avoid anything that might trigger the panic?’ He was no expert, but that tactic would surely impose nigh on impossible limitations.